Repulsive Lump
by buttertroll
Summary: The Philosopher's Stone is sought by a girl in Aquios. Inventors!fic. Eliza-centric, plus alchemists.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Don't own it.

**OOOOO**

**Repulsive Lump**

**OOOOO**

"Eliza, go away. You're obviously not of any help and you're doing a fine job of putting us behind schedule," Mackwell commanded, rubbing his temples for the nth time that day. Not only did the sight of so many repulsive lumps (aptly named by Eliza) make him want to retch, their creator's presence was not doing wonders for his mood.

The blonde alchemist flinched at the gray-haired man's sharp order. "But Master Fayt…" she began weakly, withering under Mackwell's cold gaze. Swallowing her discomfort, she tried again. "Master Fayt said that all of us needed to work together. We're never going to catch Mister Ansala's eye if we just sit here and argue!"

"I'm not arguing with you," Mackwell informed her flatly, crossing his arms and sighing in exasperation. "I'm _telling_ you. I had predicted that we would be finished by lunch, yet here we are, half past noon and nothing new to show for our efforts."

To prove his point, he swept his arm out dramatically. Eliza followed his hand to take in the sight of their chaotic work area. Homunculi fluttered about Lear's head as she held her hands out to them, patting their cherubic heads and quietly laughing to herself while a fire homunculus braided a lock of silver hair that had escaped her purple hood. At Mackwell's feet sat an impressive pile of gemstones—emeralds, diamonds, sapphires among them. He looked at her rather smugly when he saw her big blue eyes widen, for he knew she had seen the rainbow diamond that was nestled comfortably in a bed of rubies near the top of the sparkling mound.

Tearing her eyes away from the multi-colored gemstone, Eliza allowed her gaze to fall to her own feet and noticing that, much to her chagrin, all that was there to greet her was a cloudy grey rock atop a sea of the most repulsive red lumps she had ever conceived. "This air gem is new…" she offered meekly, pointing at the dull rock with her leather boot.

"Yes, but it is hardly what I would call innovative. It's just fancier glass, and just as useless. Continuing in this fashion would be a waste of both time and money," the male alchemist snapped, sliding his chair out from under their table.

"But Fayt…"

"Although I am very appreciative of the rare book I received upon accepting his contract, I am by no means bound to slave away here—especially with a bumbling tyro such as _you_." He rose to his full height and looked down his nose at the clumsy girl. "_Some _of us," he began with nearly uncharacteristic acid, "have schedules to keep." He kicked one of the lumps across the workshop as he made an unnecessarily grandiose exit, his two long hair wraps swinging dramatically behind him as he slammed the wooden door.

The scene drew the eyes of Evia and Lias, who were seated in the corner and talking in hushed tones over cider and steamed dumplings. Evia's daughter, a flaxen haired girl named Aqua, was amusing herself with an ornate poppet Stanice had made not too far away. The lump came to rest against her side, but the little girl took no notice of it, as if it was not worth her acknowledgement.

Eliza blushed and muttered an apology, not really sure if the whisper carried across the stone room, the crackling of the fire pounding in her ears in the oppressive silence. She turned away quickly and lowered her head, idly bumping her feet against the pile of lumps on the floor.

Before she had too long to dwell upon her own shortcomings—which she almost never did, as her positive outlook always managed to keep her mind from straying down that path—the screeching of wood on stone broke her contemplation. She looked up as Lear scooted closer, the homunculi moving to orbit them both as the ageless woman closed the gap between them. "Perhaps we should call it a day," the silver-haired woman suggested softly, gently smiling at Eliza. "We were here all morning, and I am feeling rather hungry myself. Aren't you?"

Eliza's stomach answered before she could, a muffled growl reaching her ears just as she opened her mouth. "Err… Yeah. I am."

The homunculi giggled and one was even so bold as to point. The blonde alchemist gave it a tired glare, but there was no real malice behind it. The courageous creature stuck its tongue out and flew to hide behind Lear's hood.

"Forgive her," Lear said, surprising the younger girl with the use of a gender-specific pronoun in reference to the soulless creature. She smiled that mysterious smile of hers. "So like children, they are…"

"Miss Lear? I mean, uh, _Misty_ Lear," Eliza inquired, correcting herself. The woman's eyes looked so far away, lachrymose and deep.

"Lear is just fine, my dear," she said, making Eliza jump at her sudden change in disposition. The seasoned alchemist chuckled at the rhyme. Behind her, a homunculus laughed. "Do not fret over what that young man may think about you," she told the other alchemist, suddenly switching topics.

"Oh, I wasn't!" Eliza chirped, although the memory of the disgust he expressed at her failure was fresh on her mind, waiting to ambush her when she could no longer occupy herself. "Mackwell's just a big ol' meanie," she said decisively, giving Lear a lopsided smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "He just… can't appreciate the aesthetic value of such an underappreciated product!" she claimed, picking one up and holding it to her face, rubbing a flushed cheek against it. "Isn't it cute?" she asked, cringing at the way the rubbery object made her skin crawl with goose bumps.

"If you say so," Lear said, humoring the girl who looked just about ready to cry.

Meanwhile, the homunculi occupied themselves at Eliza's feet, picking up the lumps that nearly dwarfed them and absentmindedly tossing the red blobs around. Lear bent down to pick up the air gem that was left untouched next to the blonde girl's chair. She pressed it between her palms and closed her eyes, light escaping through the openings between her elegant fingers. Moments later, her hands opened like a book and she presented them to Eliza.

"It's gone!" the girl exclaimed, looking almost offended that the older woman would just zap her hard work out of existence, as useless as it might have been.

"No, no," Lear corrected quickly, "It isn't. Hold out your hands."

Although incredulous, Eliza did as she was told, cupping her palms together and holding them forward as she did when her mother would offer her a treat. Lear held her hands over the younger alchemist's and opened them, allowing what she was supposedly holding to fall.

Eliza felt a feather-light weight fall onto her skin. She pressed it between her hands—it was very smooth and it fit perfectly between her palms. Opening her hands, she tried in vain to get a good look at it; however, the diaphanous substance cast no shadow. Still, it was a solid presence against her flesh. "What did you do? Is this a new gem?"

"No, it is still your creation. I merely wore down the edges and flushed out the impurities. It's lovely, isn't it?"

"Lovely?" Eliza asked, frowning. "I can't even see it!"

"Do you really need to?"

"Isn't that how one goes evaluating beauty?" Eliza snapped a little too childishly, not really liking the way in which Lear went about coaxing answers out of people. The Socratic Method, she had once heard Fayt call it. Suddenly, Mackwell's words came back to her. "Well, isn't it? Isn't it how we have to evaluate everything like beauty, power, worth… use!" Her hands clasped around the air gem, and she sandwiched it with all of her might, pretending it was Mackwell's inflated head she was crushing. However, the gossamer stone did not break under the pressure, and instead nestled itself between her palms, making round, rose-colored dents that throbbed with a dull ache.

Lear placed her hand upon Eliza's clasped fists, the gentle touch willing the younger girl stop for a moment. "A stone of air," she began ominously, "rather an oxymoron, don't you think?" the older alchemist quipped, dissipating the solemn atmosphere with which she had started. Though Eliza said nothing, Lear felt the girl's grip relax under her extended hand. "Alchemy is all about opposing forces, a positive and a negative. A thing," she paused and brought her hands up to open Eliza's hands, which were clasped like a prayer around the gem, "…and a no thing."

Eliza looked at her hands, the lines on her palms slightly distorted due to the gem's presence. She knew Lear was implying something profound, yet she could not quite grasp the significance of her elder's words. She hated herself for that; her untrained mind, the mark of a child that had not yet vanished, despite the circumstances of war that had made her into an adult.

"What you have there," Lear explained for the girl, "is a physical manifestation of alchemy. So simple, yet it personifies our art. Perhaps it may not have a use, but what it represents is something deeper than a mere rock. Or, in your case," she offered, smiling, "something much deeper than flashy rocks."

The blonde alchemist blushed, embarrassed that the older woman had caught her looking rather envious of Mackwell's recent magnum opus. It had been the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and she longed for the day when she, too, could create such a work of art. When she was little, her mother would allow her to sit nearby while she worked, and Eliza would always remember how her small hands would barely fit around the sparkling gemstones, how she would play with them before her mother synthesized them and claim that they were the prettiest things on the planet. How her mother would correct her, saying that she—and later, her baby brother—were Mommy and Daddy's prettiest creations.

However, Mommy and Daddy were gone now, and she accepted that she would never be able to hold such jewels again until she made them herself. Lear's words comforted her, although she could not quite articulate why. Perhaps it was because the woman's words were a genuine compliment, as opposed to one that Eliza would purposely misinterpret to spare her own ego.

"Thank you!" Eliza exclaimed before she could think to make it quieter.

Lear's gaze softened, and there was a twinkle in her typically hollow eyes. "It was not a problem. Despite whatever reasons Mackwell might have had, he was being, as you so eloquently put it, a 'meanie'. I could not allow you to sink into a foul mood. You were both frustrated and hungry. I do believe we should continue tomorrow morning, when we are all rested, fed, and in better humor." She stood up slowly, and Eliza could hear the joints in her back and legs popping from hours of disuse. "Now," she said, offering her hand to the younger girl, "Perhaps we can convince those gentlemen over there to lead us to wherever they acquired their meal."

In a considerably better mood than she was when Mackwell stormed out, Eliza took hold of Lear's proffered hand, immediately noticing how smooth and cold it was, like marble against her own warm and sweaty palms. The woman then pulled her up and Eliza instantly felt like sitting down again, both of her legs tingling with the sensation of pins and needles. "H-hold on a second," she stuttered out, a mix between a laugh and a squeak of pain. "My feet are asleep," she admitted sheepishly.

Lear stood there for a moment, watching the girl helplessly shake her legs around in an attempt to restore the blood flow. Although the older alchemist would not deny that Eliza was most definitely a novice, she found the girl's determination endearing. Lear knew that even if she had not offered Eliza those words of comfort, the blonde alchemist would have been back on her proverbial feet in no time, using Mackwell's discouraging words to fuel her desire to succeed. Briefly, she wondered how her daughter would have been at Eliza's age. Would _She_ have been just as pretty and full of life?

As if sensing their creator's encroaching sadness, the homunculi dropped their repulsive playthings and flew to her, swirling around her in a whirlwind of light and fluttering wings. Lear allowed her free hand to wander to the satchel she kept tied securely to her sash and hidden under the elongated sides of her headdress. The spirit stone Fayt had so kindly offered to her rested in that simple leather bag. She felt its solid presence with her hand, the restoration it promised pulsating beneath her fingertips, calling to her. _Soon_, she told herself, looking at the homunculi apologetically, for she knew that they _knew_—knew that, though they all resembled _Her_ in some way, they could never truly be her daughter. The soulless children merely smiled back, content to distract her from a pain that constantly plagued her, however futile.

"What's gotten into them?" Eliza asked, letting go of Lear's hand.

"Oh, nothing," Lear answered with a sigh, though the curious look on the girl's face clearly illustrated that she thought otherwise. "Shall we?" the silver-haired woman suggested, titling her head in the direction of the workshop's other occupants.

**OOOOO**

Evia had declined to join them, for he could not bear leave his daughter. When Lias suggested that she could come along, the long-haired man had scoffed—if they were outside for that long, then his precious Aqua would surely fall ill! Not quite in the mood to soothe Evia's fatherly histrionics, Lias had offered to escort the two alchemists to Aire's Blessing all by himself. Evia sure knew how to overreact, as the store in question was barely a stone's throw away from the workshop.

The foreign blacksmith waved to the alchemists as he left their company, fulfilling his duty to safely accompany the women to their destination. Although he felt rather silly, as such chivalry was not needed in the pristine haven of Aquios, the conditions in his own country were not as secure for women, especially ones as attractive has the good lady alchemists. Even if the distance was so paltry that, at most, the danger of tripping over an uneven cobblestone was all it had to offer.

"What a nice young man," Lear commented, opening the door for Eliza and ushering her into the outfitter.

"Unlike _some_ young man we know," Eliza grumbled. Absentmindedly, she fiddled with the air gem that was cupped in her palms, looking at it lovingly. She knew now that whenever she became discouraged she would always be able to recall Lear's kind words. Carefully, as to not drop the gem (simply because it would take her _forever _to find again), she slipped her hand into the leather pouch fashioned to her belt and, once she knew her fist was safely within the confines of the bag, allowed the nearly weightless stone to slip through her fingers and into its new home.

"Although I disapprove of Mackwell's earlier behavior," Lear said, coming to walk abreast with Eliza, "I must ask that you not be so judgmental. As the old dictum goes, two wrongs do not make a right."

"That may be so," Eliza sang, "But isn't it true that two negatives, on occasion, may make a positive? An exception to the rule?"

"Clever girl," Lear said, her smile reaching her dark eyes. "However, this may not be the case."

"Oh, but it is," Eliza went on, her eyebrows furrowing. "I'm just surprised I never noticed before!"

The older alchemist opened her mouth to say something, but Eliza did not give her the opportunity to interrupt her oncoming diatribe against the gray-haired man.

"Have you seen how he treats those poor women? You know, the ones who crowd around the workshop sometimes and wait for him to leave? He leaves bombs for them! Sure, it must be annoying to have that giggling claque follow him wherever he goes, but tossing smoke bombs and other nasty things? How rude! I bet he doesn't even have any friends. He's probably just a misanthrope, and when those dashing good looks of his fade, he'll have nothing left—not even those women." Eliza paused to catch her breath, but she was far from finished.

"Dashing good looks?" Lear inquired.

The pigtailed girl jumped slightly, the sudden realization of what she just said dawning upon her. "Well, yeah," she answered smoothly, yet she could not stop her cheeks from warming, "That must be what those women are after, because it certainly isn't his personality!"

"And not his alchemical prowess?" the older woman questioned, for she knew that one of the many allures to the art was the creation of precious stones—one that she knew appealed to women everywhere, especially those who desired nothing more than an engagement ring worth more Fol than they would make in their entire lives.

"And the way he views alchemy bothers me," Eliza continued. "I think he looks at those gems not as a creation from his own hand, but something he has done to better himself. Something to sell, something to use to get ahead. Although those _women_ would not take note of that arrogance, it would drive me batty just to be in the same house as him."

"So, you have thought about sharing a home with him?"

Eliza froze. "No! You stop that! That… Oh, what did Fayt call it? That _Cracktic_ Method!" Flustered, the girl whirled around and stomped over to the counter to buy her lunch, effectively ending the conversation.

Lear chuckled, the laugh barely audible to even herself. That girl was far too amusing, a startling contrast to her life up in the Barr Mountains, where, instead of Eliza's colorful spectrum of vocalizations, there was the drab and ever-present sound of the wind whistling through the bones of the dragons that had once lived there, evoking memories of past sin. Sauntering across the room to stand behind Eliza, Lear reached over the girl's shoulder and paid for the younger alchemist's spring rolls along with her own order. "Two steamed buns for me, please."

The energetic girl behind the counter nodded and disappeared into the tiny kitchen which had obviously not been used much prior to Fayt's sudden introduction to the Craftsman's Guild, him and his companions stirring up powerful flames of competition between the cooks in these recent weeks. During her brief stay in Peterny, Lear had seen this vicious contest firsthand—the seemingly sweet and placid Mayu had thrown a fit when Damda Mooda beat her to patenting the Brass Demon Cider, nearly bludgeoning the poor sot to death with her frying pan. Fortunately, Boyd had been there to effortlessly pull the irate little cook off of the portly man before she did any irreversible damage.

"You didn't have to pay for me, you know," Eliza said, looking anywhere but directly at Lear. Although she was most grateful for the grant she received from Fayt—which, she finally admitted to herself, was far too great a price for her level of talent—she did not particularly like being the recipient of such pity. She was far from rich, but she managed, and she was proud of it, too!

"I know," Lear answered, taking the buns from the clerk and smiling her thanks. "So," she began as the both turned to exit the store, "what will you do for the rest of the afternoon? I'm going back to the workshop to refine a few gems and you're more than welcome to join me."

Eliza valued the older alchemist's skills—truly, she did. However, she did not think her already bruised ego could take the thrashing it would receive while watching the dark robed woman effortlessly process the minerals to their zenith. All she needed right now was a few hours in her tiny lab at home, tinkering with the fine art of alchemy one step at a time, having her frustrations dissipate as the chemicals fizzed. "No, but thanks. I think I'm just going to pick up Ezra and call it a day."

"Oh. All right," Lear said, somewhat disappointed. She was honestly starting to enjoy the lively girl's company.

They parted at the exit nearest to the workshop, Lear turning right to return to work and Eliza going left with the intention of retrieving her baby brother.

As she approached the main path that cut Aquios in two, she heard the jingling of bells. Before she could contemplate the encroaching sound, a black cat scampered across her path, startling her with its rattling and disappearing as quickly as it came. Clutching at her chest with her right hand, she paused to regain the breath she didn't remember losing. Shrugging, she continued to walk along in the shadows of the buildings lining the path to the main road, forgetting about the cat almost immediately. Not a moment later she was knocked to the ground by a rather solid form, her grip on her spring rolls tightening as she rolled to the side, clutching them to her chest protectively.

Sitting up and preparing to apologize for being in this person's way, Eliza dusted off her rear and began to stand. "Uh, sor…" she began, looking up only to see Mackwell. Swallowing her apology, as _he_ was most certainly in the wrong, she furrowed her brows. "Watch where you're going!" she exclaimed, eyes widening slightly at how mean she sounded. Although it certainly did not suit her to be so nasty, Mackwell deserved nothing nicer than that today.

"Have you seen…" the gray-haired man began, ignoring her previous comment.

"Seen _what_?" she snapped, putting her hands on her hips as she crushed a spring roll between each of her palms.

Glowering at her attitude, Mackwell muttered a "never mind" and grumbled something about rotten little girls as swept past her, the ends his hair wraps brushing against her cheek.

As if those soft gray hairs tickling her face were the trigger to some mechanism inside of her, Eliza whipped around, her pigtails whirling to follow her sudden movement. "Rotten, huh? Well, a lot of good things are rotten!" she yelled at his retreating back. "Like, like…" she trailed off, losing steam as quickly as she had received it. Undaunted, Mackwell made no move to turn around and argue with her, his form making a sharp right into an alleyway.

"Like _you_," she hissed softly, frowning at her own unwelcome affections. Huffing indignantly, she swirled around on one foot and continued on her way.

The blonde girl's so-called infatuation with Mackwell had started long before she even knew what the Craftsman's Guild was. It had been a beautiful day in the capital, a rare warm and sunny afternoon during the rainy season. Eliza remembered it very clearly. She sat in a bed of grass to the side of the palace, playing alchemist with the rocks she found under the bushes, a six-year-old Mishell lying down not too far away from her, absorbed in a book. However, unlike the picture books that most children his age enjoyed reading (Eliza, who was then almost twice his age, also enjoyed them), the colorful illustrations that should have been present on the paper were instead ousted by page upon page of drab text, although that seemed to excite the platinum-haired boy much more than a picture ever could.

She had been carrying on as usual, tossing the pebbles into a nearby puddle—her cauldron, just like her mother's. After saying the magic words and adding the super secret ingredients (weeds that she had torn to pieces after she made Mishell promise he wouldn't peek), she then plunged her hands into the shallow pool of water, digging her fingers into the mud as she retrieved the product of all of her hard labor.

"Ta-da!" she yelled, opening her muddy hands and presenting her creation to Mishell. The pebble was wet and slightly cleaner than her hands and tiny bits of grass stuck to it, giving it the appearance of some kind of ugly underground creature.

"Eliza, that's gross," the precocious boy said, wrinkling his nose.

"What do you mean?" she responded incredulously. "This is the super rare Philosopher's Stone! Do you know how good an alchemist has to be to make one? Really talented! Like, the best of the best! And she just happens to be sitting right in front of you!"

Mishell rolled his eyes. Fortunately for him, the glare of the bright sunlight on his glasses hid that gesture from the energetic girl, for she probably would have throttled him if she had seen it. "I'm honored," he drawled, going back to his book.

"Hey, who's that?" Eliza questioned after a moment of deliberation, pointing past Mishell to a figure approaching the palace via the main path that fed into the palace gate. "I don't think I've ever seen her before."

Mishell marked his page and closed his book, sitting up and turning around to get a good look at whomever Eliza was indicating. "That's a he, Eliza," the child prodigy corrected as the young man drew nearer.

"But she's wearing earrings!" Eliza argued, dropping her precious Philosopher's Stone to point at the golden loops going through the woman's ears.

"Don't be silly. Boys can wear earrings, too," Mishell informed her, quickly growing bored with the newcomer and picking up his book, thumbing through the pages until he found his place again.

Eliza, however, watched this man approach the palace with interest, her eyes resting on him as he stopped to speak with the guards. From where she sat, she had a nice view of his handsome profile and his unique (and obviously foreign) raiment. He seemed flustered for a moment, but he quickly pulled out an important looking document, shoving it into the guards' faces. The blonde girl saw their eyes widen and they immediately stepped out of the way, allowing the man (who indignantly turned up his nose) to pass.

"He must be a new researcher. From the looks of him, probably an alchemist," Mishell mused, breaking Eliza out of a trance she didn't even realize she was in.

"An alchemist? Mommy's an alchemist, but she doesn't dress like that!" Eliza said. "I say he's a runologist. I saw some tattoos on his hands."

"He could be both, you know."

"Hmm. Maybe."

Not feeling that that was an answer worth responding to, the little boy went back to his book. However, Eliza allowed her eyes to return to where the foreign man once stood, a blush coming to her cheeks. He was like something out of a fairy tale; a mysterious red-robed man from a country far, far away. She idly wondered what it would be like to walk next to him, for he seemed rather tall and imposing, almost scary. Would he shorten his stride and allow her to keep up? Hold her hand? Carry her? Was he a prince, too? He certainly carried himself like one, so proud and composed. When he walked, his hair wraps trailed majestically behind him, like servants. She brought her hands up to her cheeks as if they could quell burning there.

"…Why are you smearing mud on your face?" Mishell asked, although he really had come to expect such behavior from Eliza in the short time he had known the older girl.

"Huh? Oh! Eww!" she exclaimed, snapping out of her reverie and rubbing her hands on the grass. "Mishell! Why didn't you stop me? What if _he_ sees?" she questioned, flustered, as she tried in futility to wipe away the mud on her face with the backs of her hands.

Eliza smiled at the memory. Oh, Mackwell was most certainly not a prince. It would be years later when her dreams of the two of them running off to an enchanted kingdom would come to a crashing halt. His scathing comments and anal retentiveness had worn her feelings for him down rather quickly. Yet, now that she thought about it, she could not deny that, out of all the men she knew, he still had the most attractive face. To think she spent the majority of her adolescence pining over that cantankerous killjoy. She snorted at the thought. Yes, there had been a series of other crushes: Ronaldo, Nicholas, Ruddle, and, most recently, Master Fayt. But at the same time there had always been Mackwell in the back of her mind, sulking in a corner and screaming "pay attention to me!" as if he knew he was the first and her only prince.

It would be so like him, too, she thought. She did not know if it was the fact that he was obviously a foreigner, but he always managed to draw the attention of those surrounding him. Of course, it was almost always unwanted attention, but that did not change the fact that people stopped and looked—really_ looked_—at him. Maybe it was the red cape.

With her mental tirade losing steam, Eliza shook her head, clearing the barrage of negative thoughts. Yes, the gray-haired alchemist was not the nicest person in Aquaria, but he wasn't the meanest either. She had seen him be decent on more than one occasion, and she found herself rather jealous of Lear, for she regularly saw them in the workshop just as she arrived, already settled into work and talking in hushed tones, probably discussing the arcane secrets and forbidden practices of alchemy. She shook her head again, her pigtails flapping violently against her face.

Determined to forget all of the negative feelings she had bottled up over the past few hours, she allowed her mind to wander to her baby brother. To add to her distraction, she began to eat her rather abused spring rolls.

Ezra was a lively kid, as far as nearly two-year-olds went. Combined with the fact that he was now learning key toddler jargon—specifically, "mine" and "no"—he was turning into quite the handful. He, like most young children, possessed an affinity for shiny things, and would more often than not be crusading for his older sister's misconceived creations, which she had learned to keep high out of his reach. He was sneaky though, and when Eliza would leave her makeshift lab for a few minutes to start dinner, she would often return to find him climbing onto her desk while using her abandoned chair as a platform and reaching for an occupied vial with a very, _very_ determined look on his face. Determined and _hungry_, as Eliza recalled. It scared her to think of the day when her brother would finally succeed in his quest to inadvertently poison himself.

Finishing her quick lunch and opening the door to Solon's Guidance, Eliza stepped in and was welcomed by a rather thin man at the reception counter. Mr. Steno was a friend of her late mother's and was more than willing to assist his friend's daughter when she would receive a summons to the workshop. "You're back awfully early, Eliza," he said.

"Yeah," she answered. "Creative roadblock." _That was an understatement_, she mused.

"Oh, that's too bad," the man said sincerely. "Better luck tomorrow. Hey, Ezra," he called, bending down behind the counter only to return with a boy in his arms. "Look who's here!"

"Iza!" the boy squealed, reaching his chubby arms out to his sister.

"Hello there, you little goober," she cooed to him, taking him out of Mr. Steno's arms.

They exchanged their daily pleasantries as Ezra became increasingly impatient, whining about home into Eliza's shoulder. She gave her guardian an embarrassed smile before dismissing herself and wishing him a good day.

Ezra absentmindedly pulled on his sister's pigtails, balling their ends between his tiny fists and sometimes chewing on them. Eliza sighed. As she strolled down the cobblestone path to their home, she briefly wondered how Mackwell would respond to having his tails tugged and gnawed on.

**OOOOO**

**Comments: **Yeah. I'm convinced that Lias is the "former king's brother" that Adray mentions to the queen.

Upon further research, I found that Eliza can't even make an air gem and only Ansala can make rainbow diamonds. I apologize if that actually annoys anybody.

Well, this is my first foray into the SO section. Rather silly of me to start out with such minor characters, but whatever. If you've got the time, please review.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer/Notes: **See Part 1.

**OOOOO**

Eliza balanced Ezra in one arm as she eased open the wooden door to their home. The interior of the house was frugal compared to what it had been before their parents' untimely passing, but it was still a welcoming sight. Eliza had, after much deliberation, sold everything that did not have a sentimental or necessary value, leaving their home rather devoid of a fashionable appearance. The first floor was composed of two rectangular rooms and an alcove that branched off into a tiny kitchen, where the stone stove went unused for the most part (unless the weather warranted a warmer piece de resistance to her already sparse menu or when Ezra needed a warm bath). The room the two presently occupied had only a wooden table and four chairs to its name. As for the room on the right… The last time Eliza had been in there was with the midwife on the night her brother was born. The closed door had loomed on the east wall for almost two years now and Eliza idly wondered if it would still open, although she was far from ready to find out.

The blonde alchemist bounced up the stone steps at a brusque pace, cradling Ezra's head against her shoulder as to not jar the boy too much, the pouch resting at her waist giving a soft _thump, thump, thump_ as it bumped against her each step she took. The second floor was nothing but a hallway that led to a latter to the roof and another room sized close to the perimeter of the house. It was there that both Eliza and Ezra slept, in addition to hosting a rather large bookshelf, drawers, shelves and Eliza's laboratory. The bookshelf was populated by her mother's alchemy books and notes while also sharing space with severely overdue books from the castle's library that had been checked out by her mother about two years prior. Eliza, with her endless confidence, assumed that she would just return them when she was granted admittance into the Runological School. Of course, if they did refuse her, she'd just keep the books, anyway.

Gently, she set the boy down into a bassinet that rested adjacent to her own bed. With a frown, she realized that it was becoming more and more of a snug fit each day. She knew she would have to get a new bed for him soon, but did not know whom to contact for such a thing. Perhaps she could enlist the help of the crafters or blacksmiths, she thought. After all, they were coworkers and acquaintances, so perhaps they would construct one for free. Nodding, she promised herself that she'd ask about it in the workshop tomorrow. The workshop… she mused, frowning again. She'd show that Mackwell.

"I'll do better tomorrow," she muttered to herself over and over, like a mantra that would become true should one say it enough times. She flopped backwards onto her bed and kicked off her boots, stretching her limbs and flexing her fingers and toes. "Yep!" she exclaimed suddenly, sitting up and looking over to her brother, who stared back with identical big blue eyes, idly chewing on his fist. "Did you here that, Ezra? I'll do better tomorrow!"

He responded to her jubilation with his own, pulling his hand out of his mouth and flailing it about with his other, drool flicking in all directions.

"And you know what else I'll do?" she asked him with glee, moving closer and poking his nose. "I'll tell that Mackwell to get ready to step aside." Although that was an unrealistic goal, Eliza always managed to conjure dreams of grandeur following a particularly bad day. Imagining herself in successful positions did wonders for a bruised ego, although lately she began to wonder if she was only setting herself up for disappointment.

Rejuvenated, she slid off of the bed and shut the door to her room. Picking up a few of Ezra's toys that littered the floor, she deposited them on a rug in the center of the room and brought her brother over to join them. "Now you be good, okay?" she asked. He just nodded back dumbly and went to moving the figurines around in an idle manner. Satisfied, Eliza went to the other side of the room and pulled out the chair from under the desk and stood on it. Carefully, she reached her hands up to the top of the shelf that was attached to the wall above the desk. As a precaution—although she figured that even if he were on the desk, Ezra could only reach so high—she kept all materials she deemed hazardous as far away from the floor as possible. Once securely in her hands, she placed all of the unidentified or otherwise conspicuous solids and liquids onto the desk. With her feet firmly back on the floor, she reached up to the lower levels of the shelf and procured a few stones—mostly iron, she noted sourly, although the conglomeration of dull, gray metal was decorated by other sporadically placed gems. Emeralds (all of which she meant to synthesize to her Cordon Scepter, which rested against the wall, catching the afternoon sun in the red gem at its center and making parts of the floor and wall appear to be on fire), sapphires, rubies, and a single diamond, the memory of its acquisition making her smirk every time she laid eyes upon it.

She and Mackwell were in another tiff over how to go about its use in their work. Mackwell, being the obstinate man that he was, insisted upon moving on to bigger things—that a diamond was all well and good, but it was still child's play compared to what Fayt expected of them. Eliza, referencing her mother's notes, claimed that a diamond would do well to be further examined, as defensive capability would be a key factor in a fight, especially against the unknown. Mackwell snorted at that and insisted that the three of them—for Misty Lear had been sitting nearby, a silent but amused third party—strive for orichalcums. In addition, he implied that her mother's work was a load of rubbish. It was then that Eliza called him a word that would make a soldier blush and he stormed out in a manner akin to his exit today.

The rest of the workshop's occupants stared at her, Evia covering Aqua's ears and glaring in the alchemist's direction, the beads Stanice was stringing together hitting the floor with a discordant _plink, plink, plink_ and then rolling away in all directions. Moments later, Lias entered with a confused look on his face, gesturing with his thumb behind him as if to ask what was wrong with Mackwell.

"Oh my…" Lear said, although there was no offense in her words. "I daresay I have not heard such vulgarity since my youth."

Eliza blushed and opened her mouth to say something, but Lear interrupted her:

"Although that may not have been entirely inappropriate, I would suggest that you apologize when he returns. Ripples only grow larger."

"Ah, yes. Well, um…" the younger alchemist began, although her words were lost as soon as they were found.

"Why don't you take this?" Lear asked while she scooted the diamond in Eliza's direction with her index finger. "Rather obvious that our companion finds it useless, don't you think?"

Eliza pocketed it quickly and when a frazzled Mackwell returned and angrily inquired to its whereabouts, Lear gave the scared blonde a reassuring smile and answered:

"A curious little bird flew in and took it. I would have shooed the sweet thing away, but who am I to deprive a bird of a mate? I imagine a diamond would fetch quite an impressive wife for the lucky thing, wouldn't you agree, Eliza?"

"Just as it would for us humans, I suppose," the girl had answered with a smile.

Mackwell's red eyes narrowed and he gave them both a suspicious look. Although he knew Lear had no reason to lie to him, it was Eliza's tone that aroused his doubt. "Well, I do suppose, _ladies_," he said, eying Eliza purposefully, "that the success of a bird's love life would do well to feed the cats around here." He turned around and looked over his shoulder at them, "Now, if you'll excuse me, my recent expedition outside has informed me how late it is, and, should I not fall behind schedule, I will be leaving."

As the wooden door shut behind the long-haired alchemist, Eliza found herself fearing for the fictitious bird's life. "Did you hear that? _Sca-ree_," she said, incorporating vernacular from Greeton that she had picked up from Mister Cliff.

Presently, she set the rocks down and plucked the diamond from their grasp. She hadn't the foggiest idea of what she wanted to do with it. It was the only one in her possession, and she had no inkling as to when she could get her hands on another one. What she did know is that she didn't want to synthesize it. In addition, she figured she probably couldn't refine it on her own, and she'd be dammed to be caught with it by Mackwell back in the workshop with Lear. It would be just like him to commit exactly what that particular diamond looked like to memory in order to later extract revenge upon the bird that stole it; or rather, the girl he suspected of flying off with it.

"But it's not like he cared about you, anyway," she said to the diamond. "I, however, think you are worth something. You're much more than a rotten little girl…"

**OOOOO**

It was more than three hours later when she felt the telltale tug upon her yellow dress that indicated it would soon be time to stop working. Ignoring it for the moment, she added the deep blue liquid to the vial that held fifty milligrams of gold dust at its bottom. This concoction was an interesting concept—the liquefied form of the properties given by metals, made possible by allowing iron to boil in what could only be called a soup of various chemicals, all thrown together haphazardly by Eliza.

Dumb luck seemed to be her greatest talent and she later found, through trial and error (and a bit more Fol than she would have liked to have spent), the exact amount of each chemical she had poured into the beaker during her fit of frustration brought on by none other than Mackwell about three weeks ago. Although this offered nothing new—just the convenience of a liquid over a solid, Eliza was happy with her small discovery. This afternoon, she tried the same thing with a sapphire that yielded similar results and she was ready to take it the next step, using gold dust as a simple control. The first trialwas already fizzing with the dust in its vial, but looked in no danger of overflowing. After sliding the second vial into the hole next to it, she lifted the vial rack up and put a tray for spills beneath it. The tugging became harder.

"What is it, little boy?" she asked, sliding out of her chair and onto the floor with Ezra. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, idly picking lint off of her blue leggings. "Don't you want to stay in here and let me become the world's greatest alchemist?"

"No," the boy said simply, frowning up at her.

"Oh, that hurts my feelings," she pouted at him while burying her head into her knees and pretending to cry. After a moment, when Ezra did nothing to soothe his older sister's crocodile tears, the girl's head shot up and she frowned at him. "How rude. You know, if you're like that with all women, you may turn out to be just as inhospitable as that snobby Mackwell."

"Mackwell!" he repeated. It was no surprise to Eliza When she was not baby-talking him, the only other things she would say aloud was Mackwell this or Mackwell that. That stupid Mackwell I hate Mackwell so much why does Mackwell have to be so good at everything I wish Mackwell's pretty head would just explode and knowing Mackwell it would be the best explosion I'll ever see for the rest of my life that bastard! This was a household name to Ezra.

"Yes, Mackwell," she said, putting her hands on her cheeks and pulling down, dragging the rest of her face along. "He looks like this," she continued, sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes for good measure, "and he eats children and uses their bones for alchemy! He's not a very nice person. A meanie, in fact," she said, using words she knew Ezra understood.

"Meanie…" he echoed. He watched his older sister prattle on about this Mackwell character, although he did not understand a why. Her hands were back on her cheeks and her face normal, her cheeks shaded red.

"…and when he walks he carries himself like a prince. Did you know that I had plans to run away and marry him before you were born? Well, I did. And when I would tell Mommy, she would laugh and say that maybe I could use his royal inheritance and buy her a better lab. Daddy said his princess was too good for him. And you know what, Daddy was right!"

"Daaaaaa…" Ezra tried to say, but he was unfamiliar with this Mommy and Daddy of which his sister spoke. Eliza knew this, and it broke her heart.

She closed her eyes and leaned back on her palms. "So, you want to go outside?"

Ezra nodded and lifted up his arms. Not one to deny her brother, as much as she would tease him, she hefted him into her arms and glanced back at her experiment. Both concoctions were fizzing faintly and Eliza's hopes dropped. Sure, the entire thing was a lark, but she had hoped that this lark, unlike the many, many, larks that had taken flight through her lifetime as an alchemist, would yield favorable results. She figured she had about another hour before they stopped fizzing entirely, and, although she knew it was foolish to get her hopes up again, she did it anyway.

**OOOOO**

Eliza sat outside fiddling with the Greetonian communicator she received the day she joined the Guild, glancing up every now and then to check on Ezra, who was having a ball uprooting some wildflowers that grew in the front of their home. Although the blonde girl was quite fond of the little red and yellow buds that were making their way into full bloom, as long as Ezra stayed away from her garden, she was happy.

"Iza!" he exclaimed, his blonde hair peeking over the top of her compact.

"Yes?" she asked, lowering the device only to find a worm thrust towards her face, its swinging body sending flecks of mud in her direction. She smiled at him weakly as the mud trickled down her face. "Oh! Is this for me?"

"Yeah!"

"Thank you!" She said sweetly while taking it from him, glad he gave it to her instead of eating it.

Satisfied, he returned to defacing the flora.

Making sure he wasn't looking, Eliza raked her hand through the soil and placed the worm in the hole she left, covering it afterward. With the worm safely away from her brother's clutches, she wiped her hand on the grass and went back to the machine.

Asking Welch to refresh the screen once again she let out a frustrated growl when she saw Mackwell's name looking comfy next to the number five, an up arrow to the right of his name denoting his progress.

"Calm down, Eliza," Welch said, wagging her gloved baton. "You've been staring at this for almost an hour—I doubt it's very healthy."

"But he just knocked Lear out of fifth! That jerk! She's way better than him! Can't you just stick him at the bottom?"

"Now, now," Welch began, "all's fair in love and war. Besides, I could get in trouble for tampering with the ranks. Not so much with the Guild Master as all of the angry inventors. They know where I work, you know! I wouldn't live to see the next day! Anyway, competition is what the Guild's all about. Well, that and inventions. You know no one would get anything done unless they were trying to beat another person. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that what's driving you batty right now? That nothing you do is better than what he can do?"

"Yeah," Eliza agreed. "Something like that. Speaking of which, can I file a patent?"

"You have something? Well, why didn't you tell me earlier!"

"Actually, it's been here the whole time. I just kinda forgot about it." She held the communicator with one hand and pulled the air gem from her pouch with the other. "Here it is!" she exclaimed, holding it to the screen.

"There's nothing there…" Welch said, looking confused as her face nearly pressed up against her side of the screen.

"It's an air gem; when you synthesize it, it adds the property of air to a weapon. It's like the fire and water gems Lear made a few weeks ago."

"Oh!" Welch said, bopping herself with the hand on her baton. "Of course. Like the earth gem Mackwell just patented a few minutes ago."

"Aw, noooo," Eliza drew out, visibly drooping. "Anyway, what's this worth?"

"Same as all elemental gems, I think. The camera panned around to follow her to the patent machine. "Yeah. Says 40 points here."

"C'mon, cheer up," Welch offered when Eliza said nothing. "Why don't you check the rankings?" she said, winking at the other girl.

Eliza did as she was told and was pleasantly surprised to find herself above Gossam, who had, just a few minutes ago, been a good hundred points ahead of her. In addition, Misty was back in the fifth slot. "But you said…"

"What I say and what I do are two completely different things. And who's to say I did anything different from what I said, huh?" Welch interrupted, trying to look innocent.

"Say what?"

"Exactly. Oh! I've got a few more patent requests from Peterny."

"Well, I'll leave you to it, Welch. Thanks for keeping me company."

"No problem," the other girl said as the screen went black.

Closing the compact, Eliza sighed and slid further down against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked up at the orange sky and decided that perhaps it was time to go back inside. Rolling over to her side and pulling herself up, she walked over to her brother, who seemed to be too preoccupied with the ground to notice her approach.

When he did notice her it was too late, although he put up a good struggle, pulling her hair and kicking her as she whirled around to face their house.

"We'll come back outside tomorrow," she drawled. Her daily beatings were routine, and she had built up quite a tolerance to hair pulling.

"No! Kitty!" Ezra's face was scrunched and red and he looked about ready to cry.

"Kitty?"

He wiggled around in her arms and leaned over her left shoulder, stretching his arms out and grunting. She followed his gestures and found herself staring at the same big black cat that she had seen before, except this time it was getting quite comfortable in her garden.

"Hey now," she frowned, approaching the cat with a happy Ezra in tow. "Shoo!"

The cat stared at her, unfazed, as if it had every right to be cushioned upon a bed of flowers. Its two tails swayed lazily as if in a breeze and it yawned, mocking her.

"Kiiiiiiiiiitty!"

Eliza gently nudged the cat with the end of her boot, but it did not budge. In fact, it settled down further into the plants, clawing around the area in an attempt to gather more bedding. It then stared up at her, as if daring her to try anything more, as if it knew she wouldn't go so far as to actually injure an animal, especially in front of her brother.

"You win this time, cat."

**OOOOO**

It took Eliza twice as long as it normally would have to get Ezra cleaned and ready for bed. He would spit out food, knock away the washcloth, and refuse to put each of his limbs into the right holes of his clothing.

"You'll see the cat tomorrow," Eliza had promised many times over the course of the evening. She knew the stupid thing would be there in the morning—it would be just her luck. And it's not as if she disliked cats. It was just that this particular cat had already been on her bad side before it wrecked a good quarter of her flowerbed.

She placed him in his bassinet where he shifted around uncomfortably for a while before Eliza decided to just let him sleep with her until she could find him a bigger bed. She sequestered him against the wall with a few pillows and an extra blanket and he was out like a candle. Eliza, presently in her nightgown, opted to remain awake for as long as possible planning her next experiment. Although the trials had yielded nothing desirable, she was struck with sudden inspiration and was currently scribbling these ideas down, going back and forth between her notes and one of her mother's reference books.

The Philosopher's Stone was a treasure that had been sought after for centuries. Although several, according to the book, had existed, no one quite knew the means by which they were created. Surely, Eliza thought, nothing would appeal to a cranky old ascetic more than a stone that disregarded the rules of alchemy. Grinning to herself, she kept on writing, bent on making her notes as fluid and presentable as possible for tomorrow at the workshop.

**OOOOO**

Eliza ran down the stone path to the workshop as fast as she could, all the while thinking of how she would apologize for oversleeping. Her hair was still down and her boots unlaced, but in her hands she clutched two ribbons and the papers she finished last night.

She had awoken to her brother pulling at her gown in an attempt to climb up onto the desk, which seemed to be his only goal in life besides that of petting cats and uprooting flowers. He seemed disappointed to see her awake, as the first thing she saw was his hand reaching for her inkwell from her lap like a parched man for water. She snatched it out of his reach and put it back on the shelf. Picking him up, she placed him back on the bed and dressed for the day as quickly as she could. She dropped her brother off with Mr. Steno without so much more as a 'hi!' and 'bye!' and she promised herself she'd stick around and talk to the man once she had finished for the day. His daughter, Iraiza, was a member of the Demon Hunter Legion in Arias and was there most of the time, so Eliza knew he was lonely.

Without warning, she burst through the workshop door, nearly knocking over an exiting Stanice in the process, the lightweight Featherfolk girl falling backwards before Eliza caught her and apologized.

"Oh, that's all right," she said, moving past Eliza and into the street, "we all have our days."

"Um, good morning," she greeted, walking over to the alchemist's table and taking a seat.

"Good _afternoon_," Mackwell grumbled, not bothering to look up from his beakers and book.

"Good morning, Eliza," Lear returned, pushing forward a tray of muffins and pastries. Before the younger alchemist could inquire from where the food came, Lear tilted her head in the direction of the previously unused stove, where a tall blonde woman and a shorter dark-haired girl were chopping and stirring various ingredients. Nearby, a familiar and portly man nursed a bottle of cider. In addition, Lear's homunculi fluttered about, assisting the two ladies in their preparations.

"Stanice and Evia were reassigned to Peterny," Lear explained, "The guards are escorting them there in a little while. Those three arrived this morning with a few Chain Legion escorts. Cooks, as you can tell."

"Oh."

"You sound disappointed," Lear said, as she didn't believe Eliza had that strong of an attachment to their former shop mates.

"It's nothing. I just wanted to ask them about something."

"Is it anything I can help with?"

"Don't worry about it."

"What's that you have there?" Lear inquired, looking at the papers Eliza placed on the table as she reached over for a pastry.

"Just an idea I was working on last night. It's why I was so late, so I hope it's worth it. Sorry about that, by the way," she said, looking at Mackwell, as he was probably the only one who minded her disregard for all things scheduled.

He glared back up at her with those intense rust-colored eyes and she shivered. Geez, he didn't have to take everything so personally! Although, now that Eliza got a good look at his face, she realized that he looked just about as haggard as she did—he must have been up all night, too, she concluded.

Lear skimmed the papers, taking special care to not laugh at what only could have been a drool stain on the first page. "…The Philosopher's Stone?" the silver-haired alchemist asked after about a minute of perusing the papers.

"Yeah. Haven't you heard of it?"

The older alchemist laughed quietly behind her hand. "Of course I have, dear. And, although I do not mean to discourage you, I must say that I have been around for a long time; moreover, in this time, I have never happened across any sort of credible evidence that would point us in the right direction, should we choose to pursue this."

"_We_?" Mackwell interrupted, marking his page and closing his book. "I have no intention of going through with such a ludicrous undertaking. I would at the very least think that you, Eliza, as an alchemist, would know that there is no way to produce such a chimerical stone. Alchemy relies on the strict rule of nothing can ever be greater or less than the sum of its parts; therefore, there is nothing more to be had than what is already there. Lear," he began, turning to the older woman, "don't fill her head with nonsense disguised as hope. I do acknowledge your skill and subsequently respect your words, but I'll kindly ask you to not prolong this doomed fantasy."

"But some of my mother's notes…" Eliza protested weakly.

"Listen, Eliza," Mackwell began again in an exasperated tone, "relying on an unofficial source—especially one with credibility that is only verified by the child of the aforementioned source—is never a good idea. Although this foray into the unknown does intrigue me, we are under constraints that would never allow us the time to experiment presently. Fayt, as our contractor, expects certain results from us, as it is his pocket from which we receive all of our funds."

"I…" Eliza began, but she couldn't argue with Mackwell's flawless logic. She bit into her pastry, and Mackwell took that as a sign that he could return to his work.

Lear looked at Eliza apologetically, but the girl just shrugged her shoulders and swallowed.

**OOOOO**

**Comments: **Cats on Elicoor II have two tails. Or, at the very least, look like they do.

Reviews are mondo rad.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer/Notes: **See Part 1.

Things pick up eventually. Promise.

**OOOOO**

Running her hands through her tangled hair, Eliza pulled out her pink ribbons with the intention of making the errant locks somewhat presentable. As she divided her hair into two parts and lifted the left portion to the side of her head, she felt a tugging on the opposite side of her hair. She glanced over to see a water homunculus staring at her intently, its cropped cerulean hair moving fluidly in the breeze birthed by its fluttering gossamer wings. Accompanying it was a fire homunculus that was weighed down by a wooden brush in its tiny grip, struggling to remain aloft as the object slipped out of its hands. The Aquarian girl quickly extended her arms, catching both the brush and the homunculi as they fell. Cradled in the human's hands, the redheaded creature met the alchemist's eyes and smiled in gratitude.

"You should be more careful," Lear told the creature with motherly exasperation. "You know you can't carry that all by yourself."

The fire homunculus cast its eyes downwards and blushed, the crimson hue clashing with the color of its deep vermillion hair.

Sensing its sibling's distress, the water homunculus glided down beside its counterpart and hefted the brush up by the end while leaving room for the other's hands. Together, they carried the brush into the air with them.

"Do you mind?" Lear asked the youngest alchemist. "They've been trying to do this with Mackwell all morning, but he is unrelenting in his aversion to having his hair touched." She glanced over at the man in question, who frowned in return.

"I'm terribly sorry for wanting to get work done," he snapped, accidentally breaking his stirring rod in half. "Damn it all…" he hissed, standing up to dispose of the remains and retrieve another one with an aggravated sigh.

Eliza watched him leave, noting how lethargically he dragged himself over to the supply shelf, bumbling around in the drawers until he found what he needed. Upon obtaining another rod, he leaned over and rested his head on the cool surface of the stone wall, probably in an attempt to recompose himself before he returned to their table. His eyes did not glow with their usual gem-like quality, nor did his hair seem as immaculate as it had been yesterday. She wondered if he had simply not bothered to redo it, for a few strands had wormed their way out of the white cloth that divided his hair in two and the locks that framed his face seemed to be in a state of disarray.

"Eliza?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, I mean, no. No. I don't mind at all…" she answered, snapping out of her trance and pushing her hair off of her shoulders. The homunculi opened their mouths in silent laughter and flew to attend the girl's hair.

"So, what have you guys been doing?" Eliza asked, flinching slightly as the tangles in her hair were yanked back by the brush duel-wielded by overeager homunculi. "Any, uh, new stuff?" she partially mumbled, wanting to divert attention away from herself.

"No, no," Lear said, showing Eliza a stone that looked as if it could have been plucked from the road outside the workshop (which, she realized, it probably had been), "Just transmuting. We were working so hard yesterday that it seems we didn't even notice how low on iron we were."

Eliza blushed at how casually Lear mentioned the previous day, as if the awkward silence between her and Mackwell had not been there. Avoiding dialogue, she took another bite out of her pastry, the skin on her face stretching painfully as the homunculi continued to tug at her hair. Swallowing carefully, she glanced over at Mackwell, who was dourly chipping away at his pile of cobblestones in silence, pausing only to stack the finished product in a neat wall of iron bars that conveniently separated his and Eliza's workspace. Taking note of her stare, he glared at her over the barrier and she immediately turned her head. "OW!" she exclaimed, feeling a few follicles separate from her scalp. She turned around to pout at the homunculi and eyed a few long blonde hairs dangling from their brush. Their eyes watered at her displeasure and, like she did with Ezra, Eliza found she couldn't stay angry for more than a minute, her expression softening almost instantly. She looked around at the occupants of the workshop, hoping that she hadn't caused too much of a ruckus. Much to her relief, the old man was still nursing a bottle of whiskey next to the stove while the dark haired girl was having a one-sided argument with her rather oblivious counterpart, the blonde woman casually stirring a stew as younger girl's words went in one ear and out the other.

Lear gestured for the homunculi to come to her and they obeyed, albeit slowly (artificial or not, they were still children and thus dreaded a scolding from their "mother"). As the older woman whispered something inaudible to Eliza into delicate pairs of ears, the girl caught Mackwell's stare and noticed the wry smirk on his face. Her jaw dropped in disbelief before she willed her mouth shut and glared back at him.

"Um, do you want me to help transmute?" Eliza asked while rubbing the spot on her head as the initial soreness morphed into a dull ache.

"You just get yourself settled first, Eliza." She paused to laugh and once again waved a cobblestone at Eliza. "I feel rather guilty about letting progress getting in the way of morals. That little fall you and Stanice had was more than likely my fault. I suppose this is stealing." She chuckled again, perhaps amused at how inappropriate to her age her actions were.

Mackwell snorted in disapproval. He had argued with Lear for a solid ten minutes that morning before he agreed to go upturn the path in the interest of saving time. He was _not_ a thief. Morphing the last of his cobblestones with a frown on his face, he topped off his iron barrier with an unnecessarily loud _CLACK._ He looked over at Lear with a half-lidded stare, silently reveling over his victory in the unofficial transmutation race he had started with the silver-haired woman.

"Finished already, Mackwell?" Lear asked nonchalantly, eyeing his iron with the kind of approving gaze one would give a child to placate a need for appreciation due to competitive insecurities. He grunted in response and rose to wash his hands, the sound of his chair scraping against the floor startling Eliza, who was flipping though her notes without really looking at them in an attempt to make herself look busy. She twirled her index finger into her unbound hair nervously.

"Um," Eliza began quietly so Mackwell couldn't hear, although the sound of rushing water from the sink nearby muted her to him, assuming he wasn't already ignoring her, "Can you tell me more about the Philosopher's Stone?"

Lear's lips parted in a quiet gasp and she looked at the younger girl apologetically. "What makes you think I know more than you already do?"

"I don't know. There's just something about you…" Eliza paused and eyed the other alchemist nervously. "Err, that is, I mean… Nothing _wrong_ about you but, uh…" She sighed and cradled her head in her folded arms resting upon the table. "Nevermind." She really did think Lear knew more than she let on, but Eliza had no way to prove it, nor did she possess the courage to insinuate Lear was lying. She was attached to the older woman and thus did not want her thirst for what she believed to be the truth hurt their relationship. "I guess I just forget that you aren't some kind of super alchemist. Ah! That is…" Eliza wanted to kick herself. "You couldn't possibly know everything. Oh, dig yourself deeper Eliza! I'll shut up now." She pressed her red face further into her arms.

Lear sighed and then smiled, taking the brush from her homunculi and walking to stand behind Eliza, whose hair was flipped over her head after the sudden burial of her face. The older alchemist ran her long fingers though the golden locks before putting the brush to them in a much gentler fashion than that of her elemental creations. "You're so silly, Eliza. I hope you never change."

Eliza made a tired noise but did not protest to Lear brushing her hair. She closed her eyes and unbidden thoughts of her mother surfaced at the familiarity of the gesture. Tears welled up in her eyes and she shook her head, wiping them into her sleeves. She really didn't have the time to mope, especially not in front of her coworkers. As if sensing the girl's encroaching sorrow, Lear paused to rub her back in a circular motion. This gesture was also too familiar to be comforting, and Eliza sobbed into her folded arms.

"Would you like me to walk you home?" Lear asked, bending down to whisper in Eliza's ear.

"But I just got here!" Eliza hissed back though her tears, laughing at the question because it was all she could do not to exacerbate her sobs.

The silver-haired woman resumed combing the girl's hair. Plucking one of the ribbons out of Eliza's hands, she separated the girl's hair horizontally and tied the upper portion, smoothing out the bottom half with the brush. "You might want to keep it like this for today. I think pigtails would only hurt your head more."

"Oh." Eliza lifted her head to glance at Lear, the whites of her eyes a pinkish hue and her nose rubbed red from wiping her face on her sleeves. She then looked at Mackwell, who still had his back turned and was too preoccupied with cleaning himself to be annoyed with her.

"Mackwell and I were discussing how to best convince Ansala to join us before you came in. He's not interested in money, as you know. Nor is he very fond of Mackwell," Lear tittered. "I suppose skill won't make up for bad chemistry."

"He's just a misanthrope," the other alchemist interjected sourly while coming to sit back down at the table and irritably swatting his dirty bangs. "He'd be more help to us if he crawled back to his cave and quit harassing the castle with his constant nitpicking. Between him and Dr. Frahm, it's a wonder anyone gets any work done."

Eliza frowned at Mackwell. The man seemed to take no notice of it and scooted further under the table. He then glanced over at the girl and commented with a smarmy look that the only thing that could possibly grab that old hermit's attention would be the Philosopher's Stone.

"_Then I suppose that's a good enough reason to start on it_." Eliza hissed angrily through grit teeth, her notes crinkling in her balled fists.

"Now, now," Lear interjected, bracing Eliza by her shoulders to restrain any violent outbursts while staring down Mackwell as if daring him to say anymore to agitate the girl. She shook her head and smiled at something funny that only she seemed to notice. "Let's just get back to work."

**OOOOO**

Exhaustion tugged at Eliza's eyelids as she pressed the ore weakly between her palms and concentrated on flushing out its impurities. She shook her head violently to wake herself up, somewhat mad at herself for being tired after coming in so late earlier that afternoon. Placing the finished product next to a row of identical iron slabs, she succumbed to her fatigue, wiping the residue of the multiple transmutations she had performed off of her hands and meekly announcing that she was going to take a break.

Mackwell immediately snapped his head in her direction, as if daring her to get up. His hair was damp from the steam produced by the bubbling flasks in front of him and hung limply over his rusty glare.

"See you in a bit, then," Lear said, dismissing the girl with a wave of her elegant hand. The homunculi saw her leave and flew into the air to follow suit. The older alchemist cleared her throat and looked at them intently before shooing them away with the girl, whatever message conveyed between mother and children going unspoken but understood.

Eliza nodded at Lear before glancing over at Mackwell, who was still staring her down. She flinched and looked away, fleeing to the outside a little faster than necessary. On her way out she nearly tripped over one of the new cooks, the burly old man having passed out following what seemed to be a thorough taste test of a new wine. She looked around for the other cooks, but found only the blonde one, who seemed to be absorbed in the very same stew she had been stirring hours earlier. She made her exit as silently as she could, and nearly shut the door on the homunculi that were following her out. "Sorry!" she whispered as she heard the tiny gasps of surprise, holding the door open and motioning for the wispy creatures to go on ahead of her.

As the door slammed she let out a loud sigh of relief, letting go of the stress and worry that had been building up inside of her as she worked under Mackwell's tyrannical gaze. "Slave driver," she mumbled, frowning as she trudged down the upturned path in front of the workshop and making sure not to trip again.

"Don't you think he's scary?" she asked the homunculi as she tilted her head in the direction of the workshop while parting her hair at the base of her neck with her hands, making a face to go along with her poor imitation of Mackwell's hair. Their giggles were akin to jingling bells, and the blonde girl tittered along with them.

"Who's scary?" Eliza heard somebody ask. It was the dark haired cook from the workshop. She was sitting on an impromptu blanket made out of her apron in the shade of a nearby building, her gaze lingering on the waterfall as it flowed out of the highlands that cocooned the capital city.

"Oh, uh, nobody," the alchemist answered, not sure if she should keep on walking or sit down with this new girl. Eliza had never really had any friends her own age, much less another girl. Present circumstances did not allow her much of a social life, although Mishell would drop by her house from time to time, but those visits were mostly to bother her for another book from the castle's library. The boy was willing to ignore the fact that the texts in question were stolen goods as long as he was able to read them. It was almost blackmail, but Eliza did not mind letting go of the books for a few days, nor did she think Mishell would ever tattle (and who would believe him, anyway?). Even before her parents were killed, she was never in one place for too long, as she, her mother and father were constantly moving back and forth between Castle Aquaria and the front line in Arias, the latter of which became the eternal resting place for her parents. At that time she was at home with her newborn brother under the care of Mr. Steno. She remembered Iraiza holding her as she cried while Ezra remained obliviously silent.

"Would you like to sit down?" the dark haired girl asked.

"Huh?" Eliza responded dumbly, knocked out of the downward spiral of her memories.

"Would you like to sit down?" the cook asked again, scooting over and patting the free spot she left on her apron.

"Oh, sure. Uh, thank you," Eliza said, unceremoniously plopping down beside the other girl. The homunculi flew over to the stone railing in front of the two inventors, sitting on the edge and giggling as the spray of droplets from the cascading water misted over them.

"So, where are you from? Are you a foreigner, too?" the cook began after a short-lived silence.

"Oh, no," Eliza answered. "I was born here."

"Neat. I was a bit surprised that no one I had talked to up until now was a native Aquarian. I mean, this is the capital!"

The alchemist nodded at the dark haired girl but did not know what to say. Fortunately, it seemed the cook was not finished.

"It's so pretty here. I was scared I'd be trapped in Kirlsa for the rest of my life," she continued, laughing.

Eliza flinched. "Oh. You're from Airyglyph?"

"Yeah! My mother and I are cooks for the Black Brigade. Mister Fayt was passing through a few weeks ago with Lord Albel and the captain said that I should join. I jumped at the chance, although my mother was reluctant to let me go. I bet she'd never guess I'd end up in Aquios."

"Oh." Eliza said again, tensing up upon the revelation of the other girl's nationality. Grimly, the alchemist deduced that this girl more than likely fed the very army that leveled Arias. Torn on exactly how to react to this, the blonde girl opened her mouth to excuse herself.

"I'm Mayu, by the way," the cook said before Eliza could get a word out, looking over to make eye contact and extending her right hand to the alchemist.

"E-eliza," the alchemist stuttered in return, swallowing her exiting monologue.

"Nice to meet you!" Mayu smiled sweetly. Her hand was as soft and warm as Eliza's own, and she suddenly felt terrible for falling into the black and white mindset the war had engendered. She could feel her eyes watering up over her inner turmoil and she turned her head away for fear Mayu would notice. _**SHE'S GLYPHIAN **_a part of Eliza's mind screamed, and although she could not quite repress the unease that surfaced, she told herself that there was no sin in an acquaintance with the other girl. "I'm so glad you're here—I haven't been around somebody my own age in, well, ages." She laughed at her own joke and let go of Eliza's hand, reaching into a pocket on her dress and unwrapping a napkin that held a fruit tart.

"It's a little smashed, but it'll taste just fine," Mayu assured Eliza as she split it in half and offered a piece to her new friend.

It tasted heavenly and Eliza was sure to tell the cook this, whose face lit up at the compliment.

"It's one of my family's secret recipes, but there hasn't been enough fruit to spare in Airyglyph to indulge in sweets—I wish there was a way I could send a few back home unspoiled." She sighed and took another bite, praying that Airyglyph would soon make use of the fertile land acquired from Aquaria. "So, what are you three doing over there? I've never seen alchemists at work before. It's not really a common practice in Airyglyph outside of the royal apothecaries and all."

Eliza frowned at the mention of her work. "Well, it's kinda complicated."

Mayu tilted her head to glance at the blonde girl. "Is it a secret?"

"No, no. Nothing so intriguing. I guess you can say we're allowed to try whatever we want as long as it will benefit our sponsor."

"Master Fayt?"

"Yep. And his friends, too. Right now we—well, Mackwell and Lear—have been imbuing more power into stones that can be smelted onto weapons and stuff." Eliza looked skyward to avoid Mayu's inquisitive face. "I'm just an apprentice really, but I'm really grateful for the money Fayt gave me, so of course I'm doing my best to help."

"That's really neat. So all of you can use runeology?"

"Yeah, but I've never actually seen what spells they can do. I only know a few basic ones myself, but I'm sure they can do some pretty powerful stuff." It felt strange talking to another person about her coworkers. Mr. Steno only knew their names and Ezra was only privy to Mackwell's sour humor. Sometimes Mishell would pester her about her work and ask unnecessarily complicated questions that Eliza could not answer. She tended to just bait him outside with a new book and shut the door behind him.

"Can you show me?" There was a sort of childish excitement in her voice to which Eliza could relate. The alchemist's face reddened at the sudden interest in her skill, but she then remembered that her scepter was at home and thus she could do nothing too impressive. She told Mayu this, who then puckered her lips in disappointment. "That's too bad."

"Most runologists don't require an object to help channel their powers, but I'm not too sure that I'd be able to control mine without it. I'd hate to burn down the city just because I was overconfident," Eliza explained jokingly.

"I would hypothesize that even with your scepter a disaster would occur," a third party interjected.

Surprise quickly overtook Eliza's annoyance at the comment, for it was not Mackwell who spoke. She looked inquisitively at the bespectacled boy who stood behind her, his typically prim platinum hair frizzing in the mist of the waterfall. "Mishell? What are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked in return and Eliza rolled her eyes at his usual haughtiness.

"Not really." Eliza answered, scooting around to face him. "We don't have any candy in the workshop."

Mishell frowned. "For your information, I have been contracted." He flashed his compact to emphasize this.

"By who?" Eliza inquired. She knew Mishell was smart, but who in their right mind would hire a child? What could he even do?

The boy sighed in exasperation. "Who do you think?"

"Fayt? But you're just a child!" the alchemist reiterated aloud.

"So are you," Mishell returned bluntly, adjusting his large glasses as he felt them slip down his nose. He allowed himself a victorious smirk after Eliza did not retaliate.

Mayu put a reassuring hand on Eliza's shoulder and turned to Mishell. "Does this mean Fayt and his friends are in Aquios?" she asked, more to change the subject that to sate her curiosity (although Fayt's presence did excite her).

"Well duh," Mishell drawled. The dark-haired girl glared at him with sudden venom and he flinched before lowering his head. "They were…" he began slowly, glancing up to look at Mayu, whose face was so placid he wondered if he just imagined the glower.

"They were what?" the cook repeated, impatient.

"They were kind of in a hurry to get to the castle."

"Why?" both girls simultaneously inquired.

"I couldn't very well ask them. Lady Nel just handed me some money and asked me to settle in here." He reached into his pocket to procure his favorite pen, waggling it in front of the girls. "I'm sure what I've read over the years could be of use to them."

Mayu chuckled. "If it's bedtime stories they wanted, they could have just asked me. Aren't you, like, five?"

"Twelve," Eliza amended. "He's actually pretty smart despite his appearance." Mishell smiled at this. "And his attitude." The smile fell off his face.

"Oh, can it Eliza," the child prodigy grumbled. He pocketed his pen and folded his arms. "So, is picnicking outside of the workshop Fayt's idea of work? If so, I'm mad I wasn't contracted sooner."

"We were just heading in," Mayu said, pulling Eliza up and retrieving her apron from beneath the other girl. She led the way back while unfastening her pink bandana and readjusting the long brown hair beneath it. The homunculi noticed the commotion and returned to orbit Eliza, peeking out over her shoulders at the new boy before raising their eyes to longingly gaze at Mayu's hair. Eliza stared them down and shook her head. They pouted but did not protest. Mishell eyed them inquisitively, and Eliza hoped he didn't ask her an obnoxiously difficult question about the mechanics of their creation. Before he had the opportunity, he stumbled forward with a gasp, closing his eyes and bracing himself for collision with the ground. Eliza dove down beneath him and when he opened his eyes he found himself cushioned by her bosom.

"Are you guys okay?" Mayu asked, kneeling down to inspect them for injury. The homunculi peered down from behind the dark-haired girl's head.

Visibly flustered, Mishell pushed himself away from Eliza and landed on the cushion of his bottom. He set his glasses straight.

"It's uneven here," Eliza muttered, remembering her own fall into Stanice earlier that day. She stood up by herself and bent over to drag Mishell up by his underarms, much like she would handle Ezra.

"Why on Elicoor are all these cobblestones missing?" Mishell grumbled irritably, his face still pink.

"Alchemy stuff." The blonde answered offhandedly.

Mayu laughed as she held the door open, ushering the Aquarians inside.

**OOOOO**

"I don't think we have any booster seats for you," Eliza joked as she led Mishell to the worktable. She grabbed one of Mackwell's thicker encyclopedias and set it in a char before gesturing for the boy to sit down. His feet did not reach the floor. She laughed but said nothing, pushing the chair to the table for him.

"And who is this little Mister?" Lear asked, just having noticed it was not only Eliza who joined the table. Mishell did not like her patronizing tone, but was more occupied with her beauty to be annoyed. Eliza pinched his arm from beneath the table, snapping him out of his dreamy stare. "Introduce yourself," she hissed.

He cleared his throat dramatically. "I am called… Mishell."

Eliza rolled her eyes.

"I am called Lear," she returned in kind, extending her hand to him with her palm towards the floor. He held it with both of his hands before lowering his head to kiss it. "And such a gentleman," she cooed. "Eliza has mentioned you before, but I did not know you were employed."

"My talents are just now in demand," he said, grey eyes dancing behind his glasses. Lear laughed politely.

It was then that Mackwell returned to the table, his sleeves rolled up exposing his runic tattoos and carrying a stone slab etched with runes, few of which Eliza recognized. He gently sat the slab down before staring down at Mishell, who looked quite comfortable on his only copy of Elemental Compatibility: Volume IV. "Did you really just bring a little playmate in to work?" he asked in exasperation, pressing to fingers to his forehead.

"Fayt hired him," Eliza said, shrugging. "Check for yourself if you don't believe me."

Mishell contemplated the man before his eyes lit up in recognition. "Hey, isn't he the—Ow! Eliza!"

The girl blinked innocently at the younger boy, but her fingers were resting soundly on his arm under the table and waiting for another reason to pinch.

Mackwell raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "I'm the what?"

"Nothing!" Eliza chirped, her cheeks warming.

"We seem to be doing a lot of that lately, haven't we?" Mackwell drawled. He had no interest in what Eliza thought or said about him, but he was amused she tried so hard to keep it a secret.

"Oh hush," Lear chided, tracing the rune carvings with her index finger. "This will do," she said pleasantly.

Mackwell rolled his eyes at her with little effort. He sat down and procured a notebook from his satchel under the table, flipping it open and thumbing through the pages until he found what he wanted. He placed the open book on the table and slid it over to Lear. "There's not much said about its execution, but the theory behind it seems solid enough."

Eliza peered at the runes on the paper, nothing they were identical to the ones on the slab Lear held. _Void, life, earth…_ she mused. _What are they making? _

"It's the damndest thing though," Mackwell continued. "Most of the books on runological fusion and ancient runology have been missing for years."

Mishell glanced at Eliza with raised eyebrows. She held a finger to her lips.

"That's a shame," Lear said. "If the royal library no longer possesses that knowledge, no one would."

"The thieving bastard that ran off with them might know," Mackwell grumbled.

"_What?_" Eliza screeched, slamming her palms on the table and standing up to glare down at the seated Mackwell. Both he and Lear nearly jumped out of their seats. The workshop's other occupants observed the scene from behind their pots and pans, Mayu holding hers as if ready to strike at whatever beast made that horrible sound. When she deduced that it was Eliza, she lowered the cast-iron pan and stared at the other girl. Mishell did not so much as flinch, perhaps because he was used to Eliza's sudden outbursts, although typically they were exclamations of joy or inspiration.

"What?" Mackwell asked, concerned after momentary shock. "Did I say something wrong?"

The blonde girl looked back and forth between her coworkers before calmly seating herself.

Mishell was the next to speak. "I didn't think you'd react that way. I only wished to know the color of your underwear."

"Get out," Mackwell grit through pursed lips. "Both of you."

Although the older man had no right to dismiss them, Mishell did not want to stay and argue. He grabbed Eliza's hand and pulled her out the door with him. Curious, Mayu shelved her apron and followed.

**OOOOO**

"Thank you, Mishell," Eliza mumbled, blue eyes downcast as the boy led her to his fancy. Her boots scraped against the road lethargically.

"You're welcome," he returned, squeezing her hand lightly. "I'd hate to think what they'd say if they knew you had those books. The overdue fee would be exponential."

The alchemist chuckled. "I think you're just worried you wouldn't be able to read them if they were repossessed."

"That's true," the boy admitted, "but I also know they mean something to you."

"That's very sweet."

Flustered, Mishell unclasped their hands and whirled around to speak. "But I don't understand why, seeing as they don't have any pictures in them."

"Oh, _ha ha_," she drawled, moving to walk abreast to the boy.

"Hey, wait up!" Mayu called from behind them, trotting across the cobblestones with little trepidation. The two Aquarians did as they were asked before returning to their causal stride as the Glyphian joined them. "What happened back there?"

"It's a funny story…" Eliza began.

"Nothing." Mishell claimed at the same time.

Mayu raised her eyebrows. As they made their way to the main road, Eliza told Mayu about her mother and the library books. "The way I see it," she continued with a smile, "is I'll return them when I get accepted into the Runological School."

"I think she'd be better off weighting her application with blackmail," Mishell said. "I'm sure the Secret Legion will have a place for you."

Eliza laughed. "But I have to set a good example for my brother," she protested. "Besides, I don't think the books I have are the ones Mackwell and Lear want."

"Really? How come?" Mishell asked. Mayu, too, seemed interested. She glanced at Eliza and waited for her to speak.

"Well, you and I have gone through all the books on my shelf. I don't recall seeing anything like those runes in Mackwell's notebook, do you?"

"No," Mishell remarked, contemplative. "I didn't see many that were in our modern runic alphabet."

"Hmm," Mayu interjected, "if the books that Mackwell wanted were so important, then the idea of somebody else running off with them shouldn't be so hard to swallow."

"If that's truly the case, then I don't feel guilty," the alchemist chirped.

"Still," Mayu continued, "I admire your courage."

"Courage?" Mishell parroted incredulously.

Eliza, too, seemed perplexed.

"When you screamed at Mackwell like that," the cook elaborated. She had spent most of her life tiptoeing around her stern mother and the Black Brigade, and thus it was typical of her to suppress her rage.

Eliza tilted her head and contemplated the praise while Mishell burst into hysterical laughter, removing his glasses and wiping tears from his eyes. "That's not courage," he heaved between laughs, "That's Eliza being her obnoxious self."

The girl in question cuffed him upside the head, his straight, platinum hair following the force of her hand before falling back into place. "You are such a brat."

Still laughing (though softer than before), the boy rubbed the back of his head and put on his glasses. "You don't think he'll be mad at us forever, do you?" he asked sheepishly, more indicative of his age.

"Mackwell? No. He's been having a rough week," Eliza explained. "Today was just the reed that broke the lum's back."

"I suppose you had nothing to do with his prior irritation seeing as you cherish him so," Mishell remarked sarcastically.

"Mishell!" Eliza exclaimed, balling her fists.

"Oh, that's cute," Mayu chirped, smiling at how quickly the blonde girl blushed. "How long has this been going on?"

"Fooooorever," the boy crooned.

"_Mishell!_" Eliza screeched, moving forward to grab him. He ducked her arms and pulled ahead. "You little egg-headed blabbermouth!"

"It was an honest slip," he said. "I'm not used to it being more than the two of us."

"I'm sorry Eliza," Mayu said before she rested her hand on the girl's shaking shoulder. "I won't tell anyone. But, I must know…" she began, trotting forward to stand beside Mishell. "When's the wedding?"

Eliza's growl rivaled the outraged screech she produced in the workshop. Mayu bit her lip to hold in the laughter while Mishell ducked behind the cook's blue dress, fear outweighing amusement. He tugged on her sleeve, and she dipped down to hear him whisper: "We should run." His hand slid down to hers and she let him lead her through the twists and turns of the capital city.

**OOOOO  
**

"I feel bad now," Mayu said after she and Mishell stopped in an alleyway to catch their breaths.

"Don't. She's hilarious when she's angry." Mishell said, grinning.

Mayu frowned at him and he quickly masked his amusement. "You _are_ a brat," she reiterated. He blushed and looked away. "Say," the girl continued, "now that the coast is clear would you mind showing me to the inn?" She reached into her dress pocket and retrieved a folded piece of paper. "Solon's Guidance," she read. "Rigel claimed the room above the workshop. That woman couldn't live without access to a kitchen," she added dourly.

"Oh, I know where that is," Mishell said. "It's real easy to find."

As they stepped out of the alley Mishell fiddled with his pen. "Solon is the god of clouds," he began.

"Oh," Mayu replied. "I'm not too familiar with the minor deities."

"A lot of the establishments here are named after the gods in the pantheon."

"You'd make a nice little tour guide should your writing contract fall through," Mayu tittered.

"Hey I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Why don't you tell me more about Eliza? It seems rather easy to step on her toes."

"She does have a bit of a short fuse," Mishell agreed, "but she's not very complicated. I've known her for as long as I can remember."

"You two seem close," Mayu commented.

"I guess we are." Shrugging, Mishell put his hands inside his pockets. He really only knew as much about Eliza as anybody who had spent a few moments in her presence. "She's a noisy alchemy student," he reiterated aloud.

Mayu laughed. "I gathered that much."

"I think that's all there is to know." He thought she would be beautiful some day, but he did not tell Mayu that.

**OOOOO**

Mishell held the door to the inn open for Mayu, who thanked him before stepping into the establishment.

"Oh, hello Mishell," Mr. Steno said. "Who is your lady friend?"

"This is Mayu," he said before the girl introduced herself. "She'll be needing a room."

"I was told guild members were given a discount here," the girl said as she shook Mr. Steno's extended hand.

"You heard right," the thin man replied, opening his ledger and writing down the girl's information. "May I interest the two of you in some tea while I prepare the room?" he asked while gesturing to a row of chairs that lined the wall behind a rectangular coffee table. In one of those chairs was a napping Eliza, whose cup of tea was still steaming. A blonde toddler sat on the floor in front of her, playing with building blocks on top of the table. Feeling eyes upon him, he glanced up to see Mishell and a girl he did not know.

"Mishew!" he exclaimed, setting the blocks down to totter over to the boy. Mishell took Ezra's tiny hand in his own and led him back to the table, taking the seat next to Eliza. She stirred, but did not wake. Mayu sat down to his left, pouring herself a cup of tea and looking down at Ezra.

"So cute. What's his name?" she asked Mishell.

"Ezra."

At the sound of his name, he turned to face the conversing pair. Mayu smiled at him and he beamed back.

"He'll be three this harvest if I remember correctly," the boy added.

"This many!" Ezra exclaimed, holding up three chubby fingers. Like his sister, he did not care much for inside voices.

Eliza's eyes snapped open at the shout, frantically looking for Ezra. Finding him just under her line of sight, she sighed in relief and relaxed back into the chair.

"Hello sleepyhead," Mishell sang.

"Shut up Mishell," Eliza grumbled, folding her arms over her eyes and yawning.

"'Iza sleepy," Ezra stated. She hummed in agreement.

"You came in late today, didn't you?" Mayu asked.

"Yeah," Eliza answered. "I was up all night thinking." She frowned, her furrowed eyebrows hidden under her yellow sleeves. "And a whole lot of good it did," she groused.

"What were you thinking about?" Mayu wondered.

"Mackwell!" Ezra answered.

"No!" she hissed, rocking forward to place a finger on her brother's lips.

Mayu swallowed a laugh while Mishell rolled his eyes behind the safety of his glasses.

"I was actually researching the Philosopher's Stone," she amended a-matter-of-factly.

Mishell almost choked on his tea while Mayu asked what that even was. Eliza pat him on the back none too gently while she answered the cook, "It's a magic stone that allows the wielder to forgo the law of equivalent exchange."

"That sounds neat," Mayu said.

"Well," Mishell began, "to understand how ridiculous that sounds, you have to know the principal rule of alchemy which is, and I quote, 'no product of alchemical transmutation may be greater than its birthing components.'"

"Oh."

"It's a magic stone that could never exist because that one rule is the foundation of all alchemy," Mishell explained.

Eliza made an irritated noise. "You and Mackwell are such killjoys."

"I'm sure Miss Lear believes the same," Mishell responded dryly.

"Yeah, yeah. She does," Eliza admitted. "But…" she began with trepidation, "Nevermind." She wasn't ready to share her suspicions about Lear, as she still felt guilty for even having them.

"Anyway, you shouldn't sleep now. If you do, you won't be able to sleep tonight," Mishell advised. "Or should I start fetching you in the morning?"

"Oh, I'll do whatever I want," Eliza hissed, reclining into the chair. Ezra crawled onto her lap and she held him close.

"The Philosopher's Stone… How exciting," Mayu mused, thinking about the alchemists and their work. "I'll have to start sitting in on your research when I have the time."

_The table would be awfully crowded if you did_, Eliza thought as she lost herself to sleep, _but I wouldn't mind at all_.

**OOOOO**  
**  
**

**Comments:** Oh hey an update. This was fun to write. Thanks for reading this far. Comments appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note**: Although never present in-game, Iraiza Steno is a legit NPC. You can visit her room in Castle Aquaria and read her travel log (which changes as the game progresses). According to Clair's personnel reports, she's very popular, but could be a better fighter. I took liberties with the identity of her father, however.

**OOOOO**

As time passed, the tension between Eliza and Mackwell relaxed, Eliza having been careful to no longer step on this toes and Mackwell too busy to hold a grudge against her. Lear had taken him aside, of course, to prevent further conflict, and Eliza was a little more annoyed than thankful at that. She rolled her eyes at how silly she could be. Presently she was sliding on her boots at the dining table downstairs and watching Ezra play with Kitty's tails. Kitty, as Ezra had named the cat, became apart of their household shortly after it arrived in the area, Ezra having been insistent that Kitty wanted a home. Eliza was wary at first, but the cat did a fine job of occupying her little brother while she tinkered around at home. The jingling collar Kitty wore bore no owner's name (otherwise she would have tried to return his or her pet), but it was assurance enough that the cat was not feral or diseased. She hoped nobody was missing it too much.

"Iza I'm hungry," Ezra said, stroking Kitty's flanks and he addressed his sister.

Eliza buttered some bread before kneeling down and handing it to Ezra. He tore off a tiny piece for Kitty before eating the rest himself. Eliza removed the untouched piece from the floor while her brother wasn't looking and tossed it into the waste bin. She stroked Kitty's head and stood to retrieve a saucer of cream for it.

Eliza's kitchen was very sparse, the spices and trinkets that lined the cabinets years ago absent—she didn't have the time to learn much more than basic bread and stews. Mayu had once claimed that cooking and alchemy were cousins, but if that were the case, Eliza figured she would be more interested in it. Under the sink there was a runologically chilled box that was filled with glass bottles that Eliza had finally labeled after almost poisoning herself. She removed the cream and poured some into a saucer before placing the glass bottle back into the frigid crate, tracing an ice rune into the lid with her index finger, a trail of blue light glowing in its wake. Before she could set the saucer down Kitty was rubbing against her legs, Ezra not far behind it.

"I want one too," Ezra pouted.

"Big boys drink out of cups," Eliza told him, picking him up with the intent of dressing him for the day. She set him on top of the table and pinched his toes before slipping a pair of blue socks onto his feet. As she fastened the clasps on his overalls, there was a knock on the door. "Come in you guys," Eliza called. "We're almost ready."

"Late as usual," Mishell drawled, Mayu halting any further commentary with a firm hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Good morning, Eliza," the dark-haired girl said.

"Good morning," Eliza returned pleasantly. She glanced at Mishell. "We'll still be on time," she told him irritably, running a comb through Ezra's downy hair.

"That's still late," Mishell hissed.

"Oh, we're fine," Mayu huffed.

"'Early is on time, on time is late'," Eliza tittered, looking at Mishell wryly. "Even Mackwell doesn't follow that philosophy."

Mishell rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Grab your stuff and let's go before we really are late."

"Don't rush her," Mayu said as she knelt down to pat Kitty before taking a seat at the table. "Tell me what you've been up to. I've been hearing fewer explosions—are you onto something?"

Eliza laughed weakly. "Oh, the explosions were nothing to worry about. Progression, you know," she paused to think of a way to articulate her work. "You know how homunculi are based on an element?"

Mayu nodded.

"Well," Eliza continued, "We're trying to put elemental properties into weapons."

"People already do that," Mishell interjected. "I've read about it."

"Not everyone," Eliza countered. "Runology isn't innate and carving symbols into things only does so much if you can't even reach the power yourself. Even a little bit."

At that, Mishell grew contemplative. "Why would that matter?"

Eliza chuckled and was glad to see that Mishell was still somewhat of a child under all of his superfluous knowledge. "We aren't working for just Aquarians. We're working with all of Elicoor in mind."

The boy raised his eyebrows, visibly surprised. He quickly composed himself before opening his mouth: "I guess you have a point," he admitted airily.

"Of course I do," Eliza returned irritably. She knelt down to pick up her satchel and hoisted it onto her back, grimacing at how heavy it was. "Besides, with the transportation restrictions having relaxed, more foreigners—like Fayt and his Greetonian companions—will have a chance to learn from us, and perhaps us from them."

"I doubt any Mechateer is going to be itching to spill their secrets," Mishell added.

"I think you're right, Eliza," Mayu chirped. "After all, I'm here cooking with an Aquarian noble and an Aquarian bum. A taste of every class."

Eliza laughed. "That's two versus one, Mishell."

"You two are always ganging up on me," Mishell commented as his glasses slid lower. "Let's head to the workshop so we can even it out."

Eliza nodded and lifted her brother into her arms.

"Do you want me to carry him?" Mayu asked.

"No thanks," Eliza said. "He makes a good counterweight."

"What is all that stuff anyway?" Mayu questioned, looking at the pack inquisitively.

"Well, uh," the alchemist began, blushing, "It was brought to my attention that we're running low on lab equipment—the stuff that we've been using is pretty cheap so we have to replace it a lot. So… I figure I'd bring mine."

"Trying to earn some favor with Mackwell, are you?" Mishell asked, narrowing his eyes at the thought.

"The way you keep on bringing him up makes me think you're jealous," Mayu quipped, coming to Eliza's aid.

Mishell reddened. "That's preposterous." He glared up at Mayu as if to silence her. She smiled back at him.

"It may be partially that, but," Eliza paused and, for a moment, seemed sad, "This equipment is top notch. My mother used it while she was in the Runological School, and it's gone through almost a year of my abuse. I think it will really make a difference."

The bispeckled boy fidgeted awkwardly, feeling terrible for making the girl speak of her parents. It obviously still hurt her. "I'm sorry."

"He sowwy Iza," Ezra echoed.

"It's okay," Eliza said. "Let's get going."

**OOOOO**

It was a clear day in Aquios and Mayu especially reveled in the beautiful weather. "What I wouldn't do for a day like this in Kirlsa!" she exclaimed.

"Is it true it snows more than it doesn't?" Mishell asked.

"It seems that way, sometimes," Mayu grumbled, "but it isn't too bad if you don't live in the mountains. I can't wait until we expand into the Aire Hills."

"How could you say that!" Eliza demanded suddenly. Ezra flinched and brought his chubby fists to his ears.

Mayu and Mishell were both confused and Eliza charged ahead of them and out of sight. Moments later it dawned upon Mishell. Mayu didn't know better, of course. He tugged on the cook's dress and she turned her attention to him. "Her parents were killed with Airyglyph attacked Arias," he explained.

Mayu gasped. "Oh no," she said, regretting how casually she mentioned Airyglyph's occupation.

Mishell tugged at her dress again. "We should go catch up."

They trotted along at a quick pace until they reached Solon's Guidance. As they stepped into the lobby Mr. Steno greeted them all the same, but was curious as to why they were there, as Eliza had already come and gone.

"Did something happen? She looked pretty flustered," a girl sitting in the lobby asked. Ezra, sporting a hat that was too big for his head, was seated in her lap and playing with the short, black braid that fell over her shoulder.

"Iza fast!" Ezra commented.

Mishell knew this girl as Mr. Ronaldo Steno's daughter. She was in the Demon Hunter Legion, which was traditionally assigned with the defense of Arias, and was the one who returned to tell Eliza, who was then staying with Ronaldo and her newborn brother, about her parents. "What brings you home, Iraiza?"

"Well hello to you too, little Mishell. Blunt as always." She bounced Ezra on her knee and for a moment Mishell thought she was avoiding the question. "Now that the armistice is in effect, my unit has earned their leave. I'll be returning to the castle shortly, but I wanted to check up on Dad. It's too bad Eliza was in a hurry, but Dad says you two have been busy."

"We have," Mishell confirmed, "but I know she would have stopped to chat if she were in a better mood. She'll return for Ezra later if you're free then."**  
**

"We'll see," Iraiza said, "Captain Rogue doesn't know what to do with herself without a war to fight, so I might get roped into training with her after she's had her fill of Lady Tynave. Anyway, sorry to keep you. I hope Eliza feels better." She turned her attention back to the toddler on her lap.

The two inventors said their goodbyes and started in the direction of the workshop.

**OOOOO**

Taking care not to trip over a slumbering Damda Mooda, Eliza pushed herself through the workshop door at just about the same time her friends left the inn. Lear and Mackwell were sitting together studying a book of runes, homunculi peeking over their heads and looking along. Their eyes lifted to her as she approached.

"Just research today," Lear told the girl pleasantly as Mackwell sighed heavily.

"I suppose you can thank me for that. I can tell Lear wants to rub it in," the man grumbled.

"What happened?" Eliza asked, concerned.

"Oh, no need to make that face Eliza," Mackwell said, shaking his head. "Lear, since you find this so funny, why don't you tell her?"

"There's no real story behind it," the silver-haired woman explained, "Mackwell just got a little mouthy and—"

"_Mouthy!_" Mackwell exclaimed. "She's been ripping us off since we've been here!"

"If only you had been here, Eliza," Lear added. "I think you would have been proud."

Mackwell reddened. "Everyone gets angry."

"Oh but you were so unrelenting," Lear tittered.

"So, uh, what happened to our replacement orders?" Eliza asked.

"Mackwell threw the poor dear out."

"Poor dear? That Rumina is no dear, and she deserves none of your pity," Mackwell said, exasperated.

"Well, um," Eliza began, "I brought some stuff." She sat the satchel onto her chair and began to gently place her mother's equipment upon the worktable. Mackwell raised his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised. Lear eyed them, contemplative.

"Where did you get these?" Mackwell asked.

"Don't be rude," Lear said.

"I didn't mean it in such a way, Eliza," the man amended. "I can tell from there that they're very well crafted."

"They were my mother's," the girl answered with not a little pride. "And I can guarantee they won't break on us." She divided the beakers and stirring rods into approximate thirds and took her place at the table. "The glass was blown with the sand at the Lake of Kaddan and the tools were carved out of—"

"Dragon bone," Lear said as she eyed an ivory-colored stirrer.

"Ah, yes," Eliza confirmed, surprised. "How did you know?"

Lear hesitated. "Lucky guess."

Mackwell's incredulous look matched Eliza's. They looked at each other inquisitively.

"They say dragon parts increase magical potency," Eliza continued, turning back to Lear. "My mother said that one of her professors told her that. He's the one who gave this to her."

Lear shifted in her seat. The homunculi drew closer to her.

"I've never heard that from any of my professors," Mackwell said. "But I wouldn't be surprised if it were true. Am I safe in assuming your mother was educated here in Aquaria?"

Eliza nodded.

Mackwell put his elbow on the table and rested his chin on the back of his palm. "I suppose it's possible that the professor that taught her has long since left, but you'd think they'd teach it if it were true."

At that, Eliza frowned. "Maybe it's a secret," she offered defensively.

"That wouldn't surprise me either," the man admitted.

The blonde nearly fell out of her chair. _He_ was agreeing with _her_. She beamed at him.

He reddened at how well-received his words were, but continued: "Alchemists, especially learned ones, can be pretty reticent. Pardon the cliché, but their tricks of the trade will typically follow them to the grave if not passed on to disciples and such. Was your mother a favored student?"

_She must have been_, Eliza thought, remembering her mother. The woman was always reading, so much so that her husband would often joke of an affair between his wife and the books that lined their bedroom's shelves. There was something else, too, at the very edge of Eliza's memories, but she couldn't quite recall it. "I think so," she answered after a moment. "She'd write letters all the time—they must have been to him."

"This professor," Lear began, startling the other two alchemists. "Do you know his name?"

And then Eliza remembered. It was a man with a large nose sitting next to her and playing several tunes on a flute, her mother nearby and tinkering with several vials of colored liquid. "Uncle Sal…" she whispered.

"What was that?" Lear inquired.

"I only met him a few times when I was really little. He was introduced to me as Uncle Sal, but I don't think we were really related. He and my parents—not just my mom—were good friends." Eliza strained to remember more, but she couldn't.

Lear's brows furrowed, but the answer seemed to silence additional questions.

"Why do you ask?" Eliza inquired.

"No reason," Lear answered. There was a pause before she spoke again. "Maybe… if you did know him, he's offer his input on all these trials."

"I think we're getting close," Mackwell said. "We'll probably be done by the end of the week since these new tools won't explode on us right, Eliza?"

"Of course," the blonde chirped brightly, toes curling in sudden happiness.

**OOOOO**

Mayu and Mishell made their way into the workshop shortly after the alchemists began their day's work. If Eliza had noticed them, she showed no signs of it. The cook cast her gaze down and joined Rigel at the stove. The blonde woman was staring blankly into the pot in front of her, stirring a peach-colored soup at a steady pace. Mayu didn't wish her a good morning—she had learned that the older woman was entranced while she was cooking and moved only to eat. The girl glanced over at Eliza again, whose face was nearly glued to a bubbling tube of ruby-shaded something, white teeth resting soundly over her bottom lip. Mayu wasn't sure how to go about apologizing to her friend, but at least the alchemist didn't seem too upset. Mishell had advised Mayu to just pull Eliza aside and apologize, but the cook wondered if that was just his blunt and somewhat obnoxious way of dealing with things. I should make her a cake, Mayu thought, remembering how well the other girl liked her cooking and surprised she didn't think of that first. She shuffled about in the cooking area before piecing together her equipment and settling in for the day.

Eliza spent most of the morning stealing glances at Mackwell, who seemed pleased as punch to tinker away with new tools. He was very gentle with them—more so than she had ever been. As a child she liked to drum on the table with the bone rods and host tea parties with the beakers.

"Is something the matter, Eliza?" Surprisingly it was Mackwell who asked this. Lear was in deep thought and did not notice the girl grow somber at the memories.

Eliza reddened at the attention. "I was just thinking you don't have to be so cautious. This morning I was telling Mishell and Mayu that I've been using it for so long that it must be indestructible." Reminded of Mayu, her face noticeably fell.

Mackwell chuckled, but still looked at the girl inquisitively. "Is that all?"

"Oh, just a personal problem," she admitted.

"Your little friends?" he asked.

Eliza's frown deepened. "We aren't little, and it's none of your business."

The man raised his palms defensively. "Excuse me for caring. However," he continued, "it was obvious something was wrong when you showed up by yourself."

"…I'm sorry," Eliza said meekly. "I don't want it to interfere with what we're doing right now."

"That's very mature of you," he admitted, surprised. "But perhaps," he began, but let out a sigh before finishing. "Nevermind."

Mackwell glanced over to the other side of the workshop, where a shocked Mayu locked eyes with him and immediately turned away. Mishell, who was propped up on a chair by the window and skimming through a tome as thick as his waist, felt Mackwell's gaze fall upon him and stared back at the man, mild venom behind his spectacles. Mackwell raised his eyebrow at the boy, who rudely rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the book in his lap.

Lear shut the book she was reading and shuffled together her notes, slipping a dragon bone instrument up into her sleeve in a quick motion. "I'll be leaving early today. Luncheon with an old friend," she explained mysteriously.

"Uh, goodbye?" Eliza offered quizzically.

Mackwell eyed the older woman as she left, homunculi obediently trailing behind her.

"…I wonder what's bothering her," Eliza pondered aloud. Fearing that Mackwell had heard her, she floundered for something else to say. "Um, uh, I wonder if she means Master Fayt?"

"I wonder too," Mackwell said. "What's bothering her, I mean."

"Ah," Eliza said. "Aren't you two in cahoots? That is, shouldn't you know?" she questioned bluntly.

Mackwell shook his head, bangs falling over his eyes. "I only know as much anybody else. Miss Lear is not very open."

Eliza felt relief swell within her. So they weren't as close as she had assumed. Shortly after this relief, however, there was a very solid guilt. Lear was troubled! "Well," Eliza began, "we can't do anything if she doesn't tell us what's wrong."

"You should follow your own advice," Mackwell drawled.

Eliza looked away from him. She was a little bit ashamed, but at the same time, elated that he cared. "Hey I said I didn't want it to mess up our work. We're talking about Lear now."

Mackwell sighed. "We're not going to get much done today going on like this." His beakers fizzled weakly in agreement. "I'm ahead of schedule, anyway," he added smugly.

Eliza frowned at him. "Well I can't play truant with you. I should at least see if this fire synthesis will work."

Mackwell stood to leave the table and for a moment Eliza thought he as going to just up and leave. It was what she was used to, anyway. She watched him stride over to the stove where Mayu was and returned with a fork.

"May I?" he asked Eliza, pointing to the red liquid with the fork.

"Go ahead."

He stuck the fork into the solution where it remained unchanged.

Eliza sighed. "I thought for sure this would make the weapon do _something. _I'd settle for another explosion over this."

"I wouldn't say that," Mackwell said, stirring the fork around. "You've made a stable concoction. That's a milestone for you, isn't it?"

Eliza gave him a withered glare.

"Anyway, I think what we're missing is a binding component." Mackwell held his left hand in front of him and eyed the multiple rings on each of his fingers. "Something soft and malleable. What do you think, Eliza?" He offered his hand to her. "There's silver, gold, and bronze."

"Gold," she said after pondering the situation, raising a finger to tap on the glittering bands that lined his thumb.

"Excellent choice," he said as he slipped one of the bands off and onto the handle of the fork. As it slid deeper into the red solution the fork grew warmer and Mackwell released it before he burned himself. Eliza handed him a pair of nearby tongs. He thanked her and pulled the fork out after the fusion had stopped. A red glow encircled the three prongs. "Combat cutlery?" he asked to no one in particular. "Fire fork—the bane of raw dishes across Gaitt."

Eliza laughed. "Mayu would love that."

Mackwell tested the handle's temperature with the nail of his index finger. Satisfied, he handed the utensil to Eliza. "Why don't you go give it to her?"

"Well, I, uh," she began, "Maybe later. She looks busy."

Mackwell glanced over to the girl in question who was drumming her fingers on the table by the oven as she waited for something to cook. "I see," he drawled, unconvinced. He turned to gather his research notes and place them into a leather-bound portfolio. "I'll be leaving for the day as well." He looked down at Eliza. "Would you like me to help pack up this equipment? You're done, too."

"Oh…" she began, setting the fire fork down. "Okay." She stood and brought the beakers over to the sink and began to clean them. Moments later, Mackwell rolled up his sleeves and joined her. She glanced at him, not really meaning for her gaze to linger, but his exposed arms caught her attention. A lattice of runes, beginning from the backs of his hands, trailed up his arms like thin, deep red vines slithering up a tree.

Noticing Eliza's stare, he nudged her with his elbow. "Never seen runes before?"

Eliza jumped and the beaker she was holding against the sink. "Of course I have! I mean, I'm sorry for staring." She grabbed the vial that contained her fire solution and corked it affectionately before setting it on a shelf above the sink where they kept successful experiments. "It's just that," she began wearily, "I didn't see all of yours that day."

"What day?" he asked.

"When I first saw you," she answered.

"Could you be a little more specific?" he asked, mildly annoyed.

"Mmm, nope," she chirped, smiling fondly at her first memory of him. She remembered seeing the tattoos peeking out from beneath his sleeves as he matched his words to the castle guards with gesticulation of equal fury. She didn't notice her own laughter until Mackwell told her to stop. "Why?" she asked him, still giggly. She knew there would be no harm in telling him she was there for his first day in Aquios all those years ago, but for some reason she could not articulate it was like a precious secret to her. It was also fun to know something he _didn't_ know for once.

"Whatever," he hissed, drying his hands and rolling down his sleeves.

_Now he's gonna storm out_, Eliza thought wryly, thinking of her prior prediction. She was content to let him leave and continue smiling. "I think," she proclaimed to no one as she finished cleaning her equipment alone, "I want to know you better." She tucked the fire fork into her tunic before trotting out of the workshop with the intent of catching up to Mackwell.

**OOOOO**

As Eliza pushed open the door to Solon's Guidance, she finally started to feel a little guilty for laughing at Mackwell. He was faster than she had guessed. _So much for apologies_, she thought grimly.

"Feeling better, Eliza?" Ronaldo asked.

"Ah, yes," Eliza said. She wondered how she would approach Mayu the next day. Maybe the other girl wouldn't even show up. Dread washed over Eliza at that thought and Ronaldo had to laugh at how her face did not match her words.

"I don't believe that," the innkeeper said, crossing his arms.

"I'll be okay," she protested. She hoped. "Is Iraiza here?" she asked, changing the subject.

"No," he answered. "She left for the castle hours ago."

"Raisa's nice," Ezra commented from the floor behind the counter.

"Oh," Eliza said. "If you see her before I do, tell her I'm sorry for being so terse with her this morning."

"Of course," the man replied while picking up the toddler at his feet.

"Hello Ezra," Eliza said as she took him into her arms. "Say goodbye to Uncle Ronaldo."

"Bye-bye," the boy said, waving over his sister's shoulder as he was carried out into the sunny street.

"See you tomorrow," the man said as they left.

Ezra nodded off almost immediately as he was carried by his sister though the city. She didn't feel like going home just yet so she took a stroll around the bazaar, keeping an eye out for sales, Mackwell, or even Lear, although the latter was very unlikely. Mackwell was right when he said the woman wasn't very open. Eliza, although she still considered herself close to the older woman, had never seen her outside of working hours.

No longer hearing the ambience of the marketplace, Eliza stopped to look at her surroundings. Her aimless wandering had brought her to the castle. As she stood there the guards eyed her and she fidgeted. "Um," she mumbled, "I'm going to the chapel."

They nodded and did nothing more as she walked between them and into the castle grounds. It had been a very long time since she had prayed. _It doesn't get you anything_, she thought, remembering how intensely she had implored Apris to protect her parents. The chapel had been so crowded then. Was it nearly empty now because people had their prayers answered? Or because they had lost faith too? She took a seat on a pew in the middle and leaned into its armrest to shift Ezra's weight from her arms to her lap. The child stirred, but showed no other signs of waking. She let her head flop backwards and watched the clouds roll by above the canopy ceiling. The sound of flowing water and hushed prayers lulled her into a doze.

"Eliza?" a voice inquired.

She sputtered as she sat up straight. Although Ezra still slept, there was nothing indicative of the time that had passed. She turned to the owner of the voice. "Mackwell?"

Although his mouth was tilted in a slight frown, there was mirth in his eyes. He held a new-looking book in his arms. "Is that how people in the country pray?" He raised his face to the heavens. "Seems a little uncomfortable to me."

Eliza sighed and rubbed her sore neck. "I wasn't expecting to find you here."

"You were looking?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"Was," she admitted. She scooted over when she realized, with a little skip of her heart, that he was waiting for her to do so. He sat down next to her and opened the book, the spine audibly cracking. It _was_ new.

"What are you doing here?" Eliza asked, leaning over to peek at what was in the book.

"Trying to read," he drawled.

"One of the libraries would be better suited to that, don't you think?" Eliza joked.

"Like a bedroom would be better for sleeping?" he quipped in return.

"Oh hush," Eliza said. "What's wrong with the libraries?" She, although never having the privilege of being in one, thought the castle libraries would be a utopia.

"Ansala's in there ripping it apart and complaining about how Dr. Frahm's latest report, among other things, is missing," Mackwell explained.

"Oh." Eliza said. "You think he'll like what we're doing with the homunculi?"

"I don't think he'll care much. Nothing short of the philosopher's stone will impress him, and he himself has been working on that for years."

Eliza gasped. "I thought you said it would be foolish if _we _tried that."**  
**

"There is no one to look down at you on the top," Mackwell stated frankly.

"So it was about reputation?" Eliza demanded.

"You must understand, Eliza. Think of it as a pyramid. Ansala has laid every brick at the base," Mackwell explained, "and all his life he has been building. Now all that's left for him to do is to make the last brick and slap it on top."

Eliza nodded. "I get it, but," she frowned, "I still don't get why he won't accept our help. Master Fayt would pay him very well, I think."

"Ansala is a crazy old fart and not even money will change that," Mackwell said.

Eliza grinned. "Fair enough. So," she began, changing the subject, "What are you reading?"

"Dr. Frahm's documentation of channeled force in action and in conjunction with runes," he told Eliza flatly. "Volume One."

Eliza giggled into her palm. _So he's hiding from Ansala_.

"And there you go, laughing at me again," he drawled.

The blonde composed herself before speaking, but Ezra's stirring interrupted her next words. "Where we at?" he mumbled.

"Oh hello sleepyhead," Eliza said. The child rubbed at his eyes and looked back and forth between his sister and Mackwell before asking, "Who that?"

"This is Mackwell," Eliza said, shifting Ezra closer to the man. "We work together."

"Mackwell!" Ezra exclaimed with no difficulty, very familiar with the name.

Mackwell noticed this. "It seems he already knows me," he commented.

Eliza laughed weakly. _More than you know_, she wanted to say. "This is my brother, Ezra. He likes alchemy too," she continued, "but only for eating."

"Nice to meet you," Mackwell said, taking a tiny hand into his own and shaking it slowly. Ezra giggled happily.

"So," Eliza began, scooting closer to Mackwell to look at the book, "Can you explain this schematic to me?"

"Well, channeled force is a lot like runeology in that it can be, as the name implies, channeled through objects. The premise of this diagram is to visually express how the force will flow and under what circumstances." Mackwell glanced over to Eliza, who nodded.

"Channeled force doesn't require a sentient caster, does it?" she asked.

"Correct. That's why the thunder arrow was critical to Aquaria's defense—the power of several runologists concentrated into a single beam. If the war had continued much longer, I believe Aquaria would have won. Anyway," he continued, "I don't think there's much more I could tell you that wouldn't go over your head." Eliza looked offended. "Oh don't make that face. I don't mean it like that. You'd need a solid foundation of this new field to comprehend even the basic rules. It's the same for any science."

"Right, right," Eliza agreed flatly. "Maybe you could teach me?" she asked hopefully. Ezra fidgeted in her shaking arms.

"I'm not sure my schedule would allow for it," he said. Her face fell. "But honestly, I'm more of a student in this field. I did aid Dr. Frahm in the arrow's development, but my specialty is still runeology."

"Well, if you won't…" there was a pause and for a moment Mackwell thought she was going to offer him some crazy ultimatum, "Maybe you could help me get into the library?"

Mackwell frowned. "Oh, I see now," he said, closing the book as he moved to stand.

Eliza grabbed his hand as she stood to leave. "Wait…" she protested weakly. Mackwell rolled his eyes and sat back down, but she didn't let go of his hand. "I know you think I'm a foolish girl most of the time." She cast her gaze down to their hands, his long fingers clinched in her fist like a bouquet. "But I've always dreamed, even before I first saw you, of studying here. I've got other responsibilities now—I can't find the time to dream. It would really mean a lot to me." Her face was heating up and there was a hitch in her voice. She held in the tears.

Mackwell stared at the top of her head, her face covered by dangling blonde bangs. Ezra looked at him curiously. The man wasn't used to women being so sincere with him, nor could he recall a time when one had expressed an intellectual interest. He heard Eliza sniffle and could feel her hands getting sweaty. An awkward silence fell between them. His fingers tingled in Eliza's grip, losing blood. "Follow me," he said finally, pulling the girl to her feet and leading her out of the chapel.

**OOOOO**

**Comments**: Oh hey a plot. Do you mind how long these chapters are? I like 5,000-ish words per, but apparently that isn't very popular around here. Hope you enjoyed the read.


	5. Chapter 5

**OOOOO**

"Wow," Eliza whispered as Mackwell ushered her into the west wing library. He gently shut the door behind them.

"The east library is essentially identical to this one—it contains historical documentation rather than runological. I figured you'd like this one more. I certainly do."

Eliza nodded vigorously at him, speechless with glee. "Where can we sit?" she asked after a moment, regaining her voice.

"Anywhere you would like," Mackwell responded. He slid Dr. Frahm's report into his robes. Ansala had probably stomped back to his room, but it paid to be cautious. He let Eliza lead him to a corner table that rested under one of the many lights that lined the library walls, where she unknowingly plopped herself down in his favorite chair. He said nothing of it and instead offered to watch Ezra.

"Oh, would you?" Eliza asked as she handed the child to Mackwell. Ezra latched onto him immediately, his hands finding the silver hair that framed the man's face.

"You be good," Eliza told him, kissing the top of his head before skipping off into the forest of books.

As Eliza wandered deeper into the library, her breathing finally normalized. She thought her heart would have certainly burst if she hadn't gotten away from Mackwell. He face was sore from smiling, but she couldn't stop. The euphoria she felt lasted well into the afternoon.

Mackwell flipped through his portfolio with one hand as he held Ezra with the other. Finding the paper he wished to continue, he placed it upon the table and procured a pen from the public inkwell.

"Whatcha doin'?" Ezra asked, eyeing the runes that were drawn on the paper.

"Runic modification," he told the boy, who turned to look at him blankly. "Uh, drawing," Mackwell simplified.

Ezra's face lit up. "I draw too?" Not waiting for permission, Ezra reached for the pen Mackwell held, his grunting growing louder as the man kept the item out of his reach. His face scrunched up and reddened. "I wanna draw!" he exclaimed, catching the attentions of several nearby runologists.

Mackwell glared back at them. "Fine," he sighed, handing Ezra the pen and scooting closer to the table so the boy could reach the paper. Ezra made a happy sound as the pen met the manila parchment. The alchemist watched the boy draw, somewhat annoyed at his quick defeat. The child was humming a song Mackwell recognized but could not recall learning. It was a happy melody, and Mackwell found himself humming along. By the time Ezra had filled the piece of paper with drawings, Eliza returned with several books held to her chest.

"Hello!" she chirped brightly. Ezra looked up at her and smiled while Mackwell waved with his free hand. The girl sat the books down and took a seat next to Mackwell. He eyed the spines of the books: Advanced Transmutation, Basic Channeled Force, and The Elemental Hexagon. Eliza cracked open Basic Channeled Force and sat it between herself and Mackwell. He looked over at her and she reddened but answered his questioning gaze: "I thought I'd take a peek," she explained. "It won't hurt to be knowledgeable in developing technologies, right?"

Mackwell nodded in agreement. "You can ask me for clarification if you need it."

"Thanks," Eliza said, lowering her gaze to the book.

They fell into the silence of the library after that, Eliza content to read and Ezra to doodle. Mackwell relaxed his posture and leaned over Ezra, watching him scribble fanciful spirals across his runes. There was an audible shuffle outside of the library door before a woman burst in and scampered off into the sea of shelves. Eliza and Mackwell's heads both jerked up at the commotion.

"Iraiza?" the alchemists questioned simultaneously. They looked at each other, surprised.

"Unfortunately," Mackwell drawled.

As if on queue, the woman poked her head around a nearby shelf and looked at the two alchemists. "I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but that is you, Eliza!" She shuffled over to the table to take a seat across from the girl. It was then that she noticed Ezra in Mackwell's arms. "You know this jerk?" Iraiza gestured at Mackwell.

The man rolled his eyes. "Hello Iraiza."

"Hiya Macky," she returned with a nod of her head. He withered at the moniker.

The black-haired girl turned her attention back to Eliza. "I didn't think they let unauthorized citizens into the libraries."

"They don't," Mackwell confirmed before Eliza could comment.

Iraiza looked back and forth between the alchemists. "Are you two a couple?" she blurted out unceremoniously, hands dramatically clasped to her breasts.

"Don't be ridiculous," Mackwell spat as Eliza reddened.

Iraiza winked at Eliza, who sank into her chair. "Why so defensive, Macky?"

"We're colleagues," he answered flatly. "Libraries are not a dating scene."

"To nerds like you they are," the soldier teased.

"What are you even doing here?" Mackwell demanded irritably. "I didn't know you could read."

"Uh," Iraiza began, caught off guard, "I'm hiding." Mackwell snorted.

"What's wrong?" Eliza asked, still pink in the cheeks.

"The captain wants to spar with me," Iraiza explained, exasperated.

"Shirking duties as always," Mackwell mumbled.

"Hey!" Iraiza exclaimed, drawing the annoyed looks of nearby runologists, "I just got back and I want to relax. There's no reason to worry about getting rusty so soon into my vacation." As if to emphasize her point, Iraiza pulled a slim and colorful book out from the folds of her uniform.

"A comic book," Mackwell remarked flatly, not really surprised at her choice of literature.

The soldier propped the book up in front of her and glared at Mackwell from behind the cover. "At least it has pictures."

"Well if you need help with any big words, I'm right over here," he returned. Iraiza made a face at him before beginning to read.

Eliza watched the exchange curiously, a little jealous at how easy their banter came. _Eliza, you're horrible_, she told herself. She had to stop getting so hurt every time Mackwell said more than "hello" to another woman. Iraiza and Lear were nice people, and Eliza hated to quietly resent them. She looked at Mackwell, who had gone back to watching her brother doodle, his face unreadable. Noticing her stare, he turned to her. _He's so handsome_, she thought before realizing that he returned her stare. She flinched.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Ah, yeah," Eliza began, turning back to her book and frantically searching the page for something worth inquiry. "How does, uh, the structure of channeled force effect its synergy with a certain rune?" She slid the book (and herself) closer to him.

Mackwell glanced at the book. "Well, it's a very basic answer. If you'll continue reading, you'll find that it is explained on the next page." He flipped the page to reveal a very detailed figure of the runic hexagons and each rune's compatibility with channeled force.

"I guess I got ahead of myself," Eliza said, sliding the book back to rest in front of her. She saw Iraiza peek at her from over her comic book. Although Eliza could not see the other girl's mouth, she could tell by the way Iraiza's violet eyes danced that she was smiling. The soldier's amusement, however, quickly morphed into fear.

"Found you," a stern voice boomed from the end of the table. The woman that stood there was very tall, her hands resting on her hips covered with elbow-length gloves and clenched into fists. Hair as red as her namesake was cropped to the nape of her neck while long bangs framed her face.

"L-Lady Rouge," Iraiza stuttered, flipping the comic book shut with inhuman speed and sitting on it.

"Don't sound so afraid," Rouge said as she stalked closer to her subordinate. "It only reveals your guilt."

Iraiza slid deeper into her chair as the maroon-haired woman approached. "Guilt? I didn't even know you were looking for me," she lied. Rouge fingered the handle of her katana before lunging at Iraiza.

Eliza gasped and feared for her friend's life, but the soldier's fate was unforeseeable as a cloud of smoke emerged between the Demon Hunter Legionnaires. She felt something shoot past her leg under the table. "Whirlwind!" she heard Rouge command, gusts of air encircling the table and clearing the smoke. Iraiza was gone. "Crafty little witch," Rouge mumbled, sheathing her sword and running out of the library in pursuit of her subordinate. Eliza's throat was tingling uncomfortably and her brother began to cough.

"We should leave," Mackwell stated dourly, having guided Ezra's head into the fabric of his cloak.

"Y-yeah," Eliza hacked, following the man out of the library.

**OOOOO**

The sky was a dying orange as the alchemists left the castle.

"I didn't realize it was so late," Eliza commented.

"Nor did I," Mackwell said. "I usually don't linger this long."

"Oh." Eliza paused. "Sorry for messing with your schedule."

"Don't be," the man assured her, glancing around with a pleasantly surprised look on his face. "I think those harpies gave up after I didn't head home as scheduled."

"Harpies?" Eliza questioned as she came to stand beside Mackwell, holding her arms out to gently retrieve her brother from the man.

"Oh, I'm sure you've seen them gaggle about the workshop sometimes," he explained irritably.

"Oh those women," Eliza confirmed. "You really shouldn't call them that."

Mackwell looked at her wryly. "Stalkers then."

Eliza sighed at him. "That's a little better," she admitted begrudgingly.

"It's a good thing too," Mackwell continued. "I don't have any escape methods on me."

Eliza's face scrunched up. "Those stink bombs are so distasteful. Even Iraiza's tactics are better."

"They just think I'm playing hard to get."

_Oh, isn't that the truth_, she wanted to say. Instead, she laughed. "Well," she began after her giggles, "I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Say goodbye, Ezra."

"Bye Macky!"

Mackwell looked as if he'd been slapped. "Not him too…"

"Bye Macky," Eliza mimicked sweetly, darting off before Mackwell could correct her.

**OOOOO**

Mayu's legs were sore. She'd been sitting in front of Eliza's door for the better part of the afternoon with nothing but her guild communicator for company, Welch having gone idle several hours ago. She would refresh the patent list every so often, watching The Killer Chef quite literally cook himself up the rankings. She had met him (_her? _she wondered, having no way of telling) in her brief stay in Peterny while travelling from Kirlsa to Aquios.

The green-skinned thing was very pushy. Mayu remembered stepping over the threshold in the Peterny kitchens only to have a knife thrown at her for trespassing. "He doesn't mean to kill ye," Damda Mooda told her from a safe distance away, patting his belly after gulping down a briny looking juice from his own jug. His lips puckered immediately and he stuck is tongue out. "Thubthin' bouth bobby themptures," he explained.

"Your body temperature will ruin this dissssh, human girl," The Killer Chef hissed, turning to eye her, another knife hand. She backed away cautiously and the drowglynn returned to his task.

Mayu's compact now displayed Fayt's personal information, her eyes resting fondly upon his ID photo. _What a cutie_, she thought. Maybe she'd go to study the culinary arts in Greeton next. The kitten doll he had presented to her as a contract would travel with her too, of course. Just looking at its sweet face would ease her mind and erase her fear of the new land. When Eliza ran off earlier that morning, Mayu was tempted to seek the doll out despite how childish it would make her seem to Mishell. _Not that the brat would sass me_, she thought, amused. After living with the Black Brigade for so long, she was not one to let a smarmy Aquarian boy push her around. She sighed and closed her compact. _Where is Eliza?_

Mayu stood and stretched, mindful of the cake that rested in a box by her feet. She paced around the perimeter of the alchemist's yard, seeing Kitty resting on the open windowsill just above Eliza's vegetable garden. Mayu figured she could probably crawl through that window and make herself at home, but that would be terribly rude. She walked over to the window and pat Kitty, who purred at the attention.

"Mayu?" Eliza asked as she approached her home, seeing the other girl standing outside of her open window.

The cook jumped with a yelp that scared Kitty away. She whirled around to look at Eliza. "You scared me!" Realizing that she was in no position to be annoyed at this, the cook searched for a better greeting. She trotted to the door ahead of Eliza and picked up the cake. "Um," she began as the blonde girl approached the door, "can I come in?"

Eliza, still surprised Mayu was even there, nodded her head. She then noticed how chilly it was. "I hope you weren't out here long…"

"Oh no," Mayu lied, following the other girl into the house.

Eliza sat Ezra down into the large chair by the window where Kitty had been sitting, the creature in question poking its head out from underneath the chair as Ezra was placed upon the cushion. She then moved into the kitchen to pour two glasses of water, bringing them back to the dining table where Mayu had seated herself. Eliza took the seat across from her and they both fidgeted awkwardly until they simultaneously blurted out apologies. Their eyes snapped forward to look at each other, wide with surprise. It was Eliza who laughed first, but Mayu was not far behind her. After their laughter had died down, Mayu presented the cake to Eliza.

"Wow." Eliza was awed. "It looks too good to eat."

"Oh don't say that," Mayu said. "The best kind of food is the kind you see and can't help but want to eat." She cut a slice—which was more along the lines of a quarter of the cake—and handed it to Eliza on a napkin. "Oh, I didn't bring any forks," she lamented.

It was then that Eliza remembered the fire fork tucked into her robes. She pulled it out and Mayu recognized it immediately. "So that's what Mackwell wanted with it…"

"I've got regular forks in the kitchen," Eliza explained, hoping Mayu didn't think all of her silverware was open for experimentation. "But this one's for you." She handed it to Mayu as if presenting a single rose.

Mayu looked at it appreciatively, but her head tilted to the side, curious. "How exactly do you use it?"

"I think it's pretty straightforward," Eliza said. Mayu always did seem to stray from the simplest answer when alchemy was involved. "You stick the fiery end into what you want heated, then you will the power out of it."

Mayu nodded solemnly as Eliza turned around to fetch forks that wouldn't set things on fire. "So I just think about it and it'll burn?"

"Yep."

Mayu clasped the fork's handle in both hands and closed her eyes, wishing for the power to make itself known. She squeezed the handle until it hurt.

"Whoa!" Eliza exclaimed, breaking Mayu's concentration. The cook had been very close to setting herself on fire. "You don't need to be so intense. Just a little push will do it."

"Oops," Mayu said, lowering the fork. "I didn't think it would be so easy." She eyed the fork contemplatively. "I wish I had this back in Airyglyph. I lost far too many pies to grabby soldiers. That reminds me of this one time Lord Albel barged into the kitchen—" she stopped suddenly, wondering if talk of her homeland made Eliza uncomfortable.

Eliza noticed Mayu's hesitation and knew exactly why the girl had stopped. "What about him?" she asked, imploring Mayu to continue.

"Well," Mayu began, "he came into the kitchen one evening, caked in dirt and ash and asked—no, demanded," she amended, recalling how crazed the captain had seemed that night, "blueberry pie. And, of course, I was the only one up there, mother having gone to bed and the other girls attending to the mess hall. I was so scared—we didn't have any pies ready, much less blueberry ones. I told him this, figuring he'd make my death much cleaner if I didn't lie to him."

"_Sca-ree_," Eliza commented.

"Yeah, he's very intense. I think he was worked up about working with Fayt and the Marquis." Eliza remembered hearing about that. It was shortly after Lear had been introduced to the Craftsman's Guild. Mayu continued: "So, after I tell him we're out of pie, he sighs—and he sounded so sad. But, I tell him if he could wait a while I could make him one."

"What's he like?" Eliza asked. She only knew him as Albel the Wicked, and had never given what he liked to eat much thought, or the lives of any Glyphian.

"Well, before that night, I think I only knew him as all the soldiers did. Just his presence would stir unease deep within me. He's so angry you can _feel_ it. He's a popular topic in the kitchen, actually. Something terrible happened to him when he was around our age, I hear." Mayu paused. "It's kind of pathetic how boring it was there—I'm so glad to be away from it. Anyway, I start on the pie and Lord Albel just takes a seat behind me. Talk about performance pressure."

Eliza nodded sympathetically. She'd often flounder if he knew Mackwell was watching.

"After a while of working in total silence he asks, out of the blue, what I think of him. 'I'm frightened of you, sir' I say before I can stop myself. He laughed of all things. 'What of my men?' he asks. I tell him I'm going to chop the hands off the next one that comes up here looking for a pie to steal. And it was the truth. He didn't say anything else until the pie was done. It was very small—there were only a few handfuls of blueberries left. So I present it to the captain, who just stares and me before falling face first into it. He was bleeding the entire time!"

Eliza gasped. "Was he okay?" Surely she would have heard if he had died. Many Aquarians wished so.

"Yes. I think Count Woltar took him back to Kirlsa after that. Of course I cleaned his face before I called for a medic. I think my lord would have appreciated that." She remembered how deceptively heavy the captain was (_He's as slim as I am_!), how his hair was actually quite soft (_Like a puppy_). The blueberries in his nose were particularly hilarious, but she would feel a certain disservice to Lord Albel should that image not follow her to the grave.

"It must have been interesting living with The Black Brigade," Eliza commented. She had never shared a house with more than three other people.

"To be honest, that was probably my most interesting story." She paused and smiled wistfully. "They really were just a bunch of rowdy boys. But, as the war continued, I found myself wishing for their mischief. So many empty seats… When Lord Albel returned in Fayt's company, I jumped at the chance to leave."

"When I joined the guild," Eliza began, hoping to distract Mayu from bad memories, "I really was just a novice. In fact, I was just about ready to give up and find another job—there was an opening at the grocer down the street. But then Fayt came into the city looking for all sorts of workers. I was so happy to have the chance to pursue the life my mother loved so much. And then Mackwell showed up…"

Mayu puckered her lips and made kissing noises.

"Oh, shut up. That jerk put all of my hard work to shame. I felt so inadequate until Lear helped me."

"You two looked rather friendly today," the cook commented.

Eliza remembered their trip to the library and couldn't help but smile. It would be best if Mayu didn't know about that. "He's just happy I'm creating more than destroying now."

"Macky draw good," Ezra said from the chair by the window, his arm wound around Kitty.

"Oh, you've met him have you, Ezra?" Mayu questioned sweetly.

"Today at liberry," the boy answered more than happily.

Sometimes Eliza wished her brother was still a squalling newborn rather than an infant learning to speak. She sunk into her chair as Mayu turned to look at her, dark eyebrows raised in amusement. "How darling," Mayu tittered.

Eliza reddened. "I was looking for Lear," she half-lied.

"Of course you were."

"You saw her leave earlier today too," Eliza offered defensively. "Mackwell and I don't know what's wrong with her."

"Was the answer in the library?" Mayu asked.

"Well," Eliza stalled, fiddling with one of her pigtails.

"Well…?" Mayu prompted.

Eliza put an unusually large piece of cake into her mouth, the frosting spreading across her lips and cheeks.

The cook made an annoyed sound. "That's not fair."

"Mmmm," Eliza hummed. The cake was yellow with white frosting and topped with strawberries. The girl didn't particularly want to shovel the rest of it away in such a manner, but Mayu's face was priceless.

"I almost hope you choke," Mayu grumbled. "Anyway, I'm going to go ahead and say you didn't see Lear in the library today, but I did see her leave the castle as I was walking over here."

"Reawwy?" Eliza exclaimed through the cake, spittle landing on the table.

Mayu nodded. "She seemed agitated. Her fairy things—"

"Hommmcuree," Eliza amended, still struggling with the cake.

The cook rolled her eyes. "Yes. Those things. So I guess she was looking for something in the castle. Do you have any idea as to what?"

Eliza swallowed the mouthful of cake and thumbed the frosting toward her mouth and licking it away. She knew that, weeks ago, Lear and Mackwell had been searching for books that turned out to be missing from the library. It wasn't like Lear to doubt Mackwell's ability, so it was unlikely she wanted to search the library herself. "I don't know," Eliza finally answered. "If she wanted to see anybody or anything, Mackwell could help her—he's our only connection to the castle when Fayt isn't in the city." A silence born of contemplation fell between the two girls.

"Maybe," Mayu offered, "she doesn't want either of you to know what she wants?"

This thought did not jar Eliza. She had always had suspicions about the woman she knew to be so kind. Of course, she felt guilty for having them and lately hadn't given them much thought. "Don't say that, Mayu," she protested weakly. _Please don't get me started_. She wondered if Mackwell though the same, and regretted that she did not think to ask him that afternoon in the library. She had been too preoccupied with herself. Her face fell.

Mayu saw this expression, curious. "What's wrong?" she asked, scooting her chair over to the other girl and placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hey…" she grabbed Eliza's plate and pulled it closer to them. "Have some more cake. I'll cut a piece for Ezra, too." She stood and retrieved the boy, setting him on a chair that had already been stacked with books, a chair that obviously was his. His eyes widened at the sight of the cake.

Eliza smiled slightly as she heard her brother's excited squeal. They didn't have sweets very often for two reasons—Eliza wasn't a very good cook and most extra income was saved for a growing Ezra, who still needed a new bed and would be outgrowing his clothing in no time. She slid her head into folded arms that rested upon the table and watched Mayu feed her brother.

Mayu glanced at Eliza as Ezra chewed, who was unaware she was being watched, her face contemplative. The dark-haired girl was suddenly reminded of Lord Albel in the kitchen not too long ago. It was an impassive stare, one of weighted submission that masked a longing for the freedom to choose. It was the look of a child asked to grow up far too early.

**OOOOO**

Mishell stepped into Solon's Guidance the following morning irritated that he had been the last one to clock out at the workshop the previous day. He mumbled a hello to Ronaldo before he was told that Mayu was not even there.

"She's probably with Eliza," the man offered.

"I saw Eliza at the castle yesterday," his daughter told the boy. Iraiza sat on the red couch nursing a bruised arm, a nearby retail rabbit pouring her a cup of tea. She thanked the creature and turned back to Mishell. "No sign of Mayu, but she was there with an old classmate of mine. He's working in the workshop now, I think. Mackwell?"

Mishell grimaced. "I know that fop. What were they doing?"

"I lost track of them after I fled from Lady Louise." She paused to lift her arm and show Mishell the injuries. "It looked to me like they were on some kind of nerdy date." Iraiza laughed at Mishell's flabbergasted face. "I'm just kidding, you goof. They were just looking at some boring old books—probably work related."

Mishell fidgeted, the red on his cheeks spreading to his entire face. "Whatever. I bet they're having some dumb sleepover." Without so much as a goodbye, he headed toward Eliza's house in a sour mood. He could hear the giggling as he approached the two-story home wedged into the city's streets, so he knocked on the door harder than what was normally appropriate. It was Mayu who answered.

"Good morning Mishell," she said between giggles, opening the door and ushering him inside. Ezra was on the floor coloring and Eliza was putzing around in the kitchen. "Hey Mishell," she said, "You're just in time to try my new experiment."

Mayu laughed at the choice of words as she prodded Mishell into the kitchen to stand next to the blonde girl. Eliza was animatedly stirring a pot of _something_. It smelled faintly meaty but its bright yellow color contradicted this. "What _is_ it?" Mishell asked, trying not to sound disgusted.

"Hyper-concentrated chicken broth," Eliza answered with not a little pride.

"Back in Kirlsa," Mayu began, "We often had to stretch our victuals. A teaspoon of this in a glassful of water can take the edge off of a grown man's hunger."

"So you're teaching her military gruel?" Mishell asked.

Mayu frowned at him. "I figure this is as close to alchemy as cooking can get—something out of nearly nothing—and your wisecracking will be of little help."

"Oh, stop it you two," Eliza begged before their bickering could escalate. "Mishell, pour yourself a glass and give this a shot."

The boy looked at Eliza apprehensively.

"Please?" she implored him, blue eyes wide and glassy. "For me?"

Unable to refuse her, he did as he was asked. She spooned a yellow glob into his glasses and stirred. When the mixture homogenized, she removed the spoon and watched Mishell hopefully. Resisting the urge to hold his nose, the boy sipped at the broth slowly, pleasantly surprised when there was no nausea to follow it. "Tastes like chicken."

"Then you did great Eliza," Mayu praised, patting her friend on the head. She eyed the cooking pot. "But I hate to tell you, you've got enough there to last you and your brother at least a month. You'll probably be sick of it before too long."

"Oh gosh," Eliza said, looking at the gooey broth unbelievingly.

"That much would normally stave off most of the brigade until our supply wagons would arrive," Mayu explained. "I'm sure you, as an alchemist, can understand how amazing that is."

Both Eliza and Mishell nodded. The alchemist looked at Mayu, and couldn't find the words to say just how she admired the other girl. She instead smiled back at her friend, happy to have met her.

**OOOOO**

Extraordinarily, it was not Eliza who was last to arrive at the alchemist's table. "Good morning Mackwell," she chirped as she broke away from her friends and joined the man at the table.

"Hello Eliza," he returned as she sat down. "You look happier. I take it you and Mayu are friends again."

"Yep," she confirmed. "She really liked that fork."

Mackwell chuckled. "Glad to hear."

"Actually, we were talking about it last night and she thinks it would be handy to have all sorts of enchanted silverware," Eliza said as she pieced together her burner and test tubes. Mackwell subtracted a few slabs of iron from his own supply and placed them into her work area. "Like, hot knives, cold spoons, and such. And thanks," she said, nodding at the iron.

"Sounds a bit gimmicky," Mackwell admitted to Eliza's dismay, "but gimmicks can be successful. Those Surprise Eggs they sell at Aire's Blessing are pretty popular."

"Oh I love those things!" Eliza said excitedly. Her father used to buy them for her every time he and her mother had to go to Arias. The last one she had ever opened had a pink toy kitten inside. "I haven't had one in forever though. Do you like them?"

"They had a feline series out about a year ago—I think they're on insects now, right?—I wanted to collect them all, but I missed one. It's all Iraiza's fault anyway; she got me into them."

Eliza wanted to ask which figurine he was missing, but knew it was foolish to hope that she would have the one. She asked anyway, of course.

"Princess Meowmeow," he told her. "She was pink with a little crown."

Eliza gasped. Mackwell looked at her quizzically. "Oh, nothing. I think it's cute you had a hobby like that," she half-lied. She imagined him fooling around with the cat figurines and smiled.

Mackwell reddened as she frowned at her. "Anyway, perhaps you should work on that."

"Won't you help?" she asked.

"You're capable of doing it on your own," he told her with no malice. "You really don't give yourself enough credit. Confidence is half the magic."

_That sounds like something Lear would say_, Eliza thought.

"That sounds like something I would say," Lear joked as she sat down next to Eliza, who nearly fell out of her chair at the woman's sudden appearance. Lear did not apologize for being late. The hooded alchemist placed three opaque gems on the table and cleared her throat. "These are dark crystals," she explained. "They absorb energy that can be stored for use later. I'd like for each of us to have one."

"What are they for?" Eliza asked. Mackwell figured answers were forthcoming and remained silent.

"I wish to see if the energy we store within them will alter its properties based upon our innate rune affinity."

Mackwell nodded in understanding and an idea dawned upon him. "Should this prove to be true, do you plan to place rune affinity into a weapon?"

Lear, for once, seemed surprised. "Yes. For example, light is very effective, but requires considerable power to invoke. But a weapon compatible with light might allow somebody with less affinity invoke it just as easy as those with light affinity."

"That kind of takes the fun out of having an affinity," Mackwell said. Eliza agreed, although she did not even know her own.

"I suppose it would. However, fun does now always earn a means to live."

"Now that sounds like something I would say," the man teased.

"I think we're all rubbing off on each other," Lear said. "For the best, I hope."

Eliza wondered if she was rubbing off on Mackwell. Lear seamed to know this, and eyed Eliza knowingly. The girl fidgeted and looked away.

"Back in the Runological School,"Mackwell began while fiddling with his dark crystal, "All of the freshmen are tested for innate affinity."

"Did you have one?" Eliza asked, curious. Like horoscopes, some believed innate elemental affinity would influence a person's personality. She wondered what his affinity would say about him, if anything.

"Water," he offered casually.

Effective, but difficult to control. Eliza recalled skimming over that in The Runic Hexagon. She deemed it appropriate, and almost missed him asking for hers. "I don't know," she mumbled, embarrassed.

Lear placed a hand over the girl's. "Then this will be a good way to find out."

Mackwell agreed with this. "Well, if we're taking bets, I'm going to go with a solid mix of fire and wind."

Explosions, Eliza knew. "Shut up."

Lear's expression softened as she looked at Eliza, who was so obviously flustered by the man's attention it was almost pitiful.

"What do you think I'll be, Lear?" the girl asked, turning to the woman with adoring eyes. Lear suddenly felt terribly guilty.

"Well," the older woman began, dramatically tilting her head and resting her chin on the top of her folded hands. "It's hard to tell just by looking at a person unless you're very sensitive to runological flow." She chuckled. "Shall we go ask the queen?"

"Not even I can grant us that," Mackwell said. "That Lasselle hates me anyway."

Lear picked up her own dark crystal and waggled it in the air. "Then I suppose we'll have to hold onto these and wait."

**OOOOO**

**Comments: **lol drawing parallels between Albel and Eliza. I hope the character interactions are believable, especially Eliza and Mayu's friendship (and how quickly it was mended). This story is long enough without detailed developments, I think. I don't want to bore anybody. I'm just rambling, but I hope you can understand what I'm trying to articulate.

I run around Aquios and spam 'x' like a motherfucker. Mmmm extraneous tidbits so yummy. Rouge Louise = Aya Fujimiya with a vag? That's the impression I got after reading what little there is to find about her.

Hope you liked the read.


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